


and love too, will ruin us

by rosyjaeh



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Trojan War Setting (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Helen and Paris, Idiots in Love, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Inaccurate Historical Elements, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Sexual Content, Princes & Princesses, Running Away, Secret Relationship, Trojan War, inaccurate history, not even worth the implied sexual content tag really nothing happens, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 11:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosyjaeh/pseuds/rosyjaeh
Summary: Renjun has a smile like many others Jaemin has seen before. In dark taverns at the western harbors, smoke in their lungs and in their eyes, the dreams of a better future. Drowned in liquor.For some reason, it is much more intriguing to see a smile like that in a place like this.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 20
Kudos: 165
Collections: 99' ft 00' fic fest





	and love too, will ruin us

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #FT362
> 
> I hope you enjoy this !! hope i did this justice, i loved this prompt so much
> 
> the title is from [scheherazade](https://trainsandtrainstations.tumblr.com/post/48251046661/invinculis-richard-siken-scheherazade-2005) by richard siken
> 
> now that reveals have happened i wanna say THANK YOU SO MUCH to lovely, wonderful sol ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haesuns/pseuds/haesuns)/[twt](https://twitter.com/haesunns)) for betaing this! and also to the mods for hosting such a wonderful fest <3

_the gods envy us. they envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment might be our last. everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. you will never be lovelier than you are now. we will never be here again._

_—troy (2004)_

“You won’t be able to hide up here for the rest of the day.”

Renjun’s fingers curl into the curtains, soft silk, flower pattern. He snaps them shut, locks out the sun and the laughter rising up from the courtyard, and turns around to Mark.

He means well, but his voice, his words, drive Renjun up the wall. His head hurts, brain pounding against the walls from the inside, like someone cut off his oxygen supply. There’s not enough air in here, the walls are closing in on him, but he would rather die than open the window again, let in the voices from below.

This is what his future looks like; important lords and ladies chattering around his home, powdered faces and embroidered gowns. Not a second to himself. His finest clothes sitting untouched on the desk.

“I know.” His heart is pressing down on his lungs, his voice comes out a little breathless.

He lets his back rest against the wall next to the window, sighs at the blessed cool of the stone through the fabric of his sleeping garments. Mark sits in his best vest, chest decorated in shiny pins, while Renjun spent the morning moping under his covers until his father sent Mark for him just short of the sun reaching its summit in the sky. He hasn’t even brushed his hair.

A swoop of charcoal hair falls into Mark’s face, picture perfect.

“Looking like that, you will surely garner more admirers than I ever could, anyway, cousin,” Renjun remarks. “Maybe my father should worry about finding a suitor for you in my stead.”

Mark pulls a face and Renjun grunts.

“Unfortunately, I’m not the prince and I hardly think your father cares for who I marry. Much opposed to how he cares about you.” He has enough decency to give a squeeze to Renjun’s arm when he sees his face. “You are the future of the kingdom, Jun, it’s only natural for him to care who will take the throne with you.”

You see, life at the Jilin palace looks like this. A rush of maids and servants in the corridors, always present, never looked at, a guard outside your bedroom door, and being sewn into your vest. Strict lectures and his father yelling at him when Renjun was eight and picked flowers along the dirt road to the town for a peasant girl with a missing tooth in her smile. His mother’s tomb in the back of the landscape.

Renjun knows what his father wants from him, knows what purpose he serves for his kingdom.

There is a painting in the hall, just across from the door to his rooms. His mother’s face, too pale, too pointy and tight to be hers, but the woman wears the rose pin of the queen of Jilin. It was painted after her death.

The picture in Renjun’s head is so different, the face of a woman, a real one, open and laughing. Tan from how much time she spent outside, sunned golden, the ribbons of her dress untied, her hair undone and flowing over her shoulders. The foreign wife of the king of Jilin, trying to escape in the palace gardens.

This is his responsibility, today the most important time of his life starts. Nevermind the years he’s spent playing in the gardens with his brothers. He turned of age a month ago, and today, his father opens the gates.

The future of the kingdom lies in his hands, he knows that’s his father’s greatest concern.

He can hear them outside, the clatter of their carriages arriving, the clacking of their boots against the cobbles. Masses of suitors arriving from faraway kingdoms. To ask for his hand.

“I hate this.”

Mark doesn’t look like he knows what to say to that, but he takes Renjun’s hand, squeezes down on his palm. It takes some of the pressure off his lungs, and he peels the curtains back open. Just in time to see the royal carriage from Seoul roll through the gates.

Bile burns in his throat.

* * *

“You think you got everything?”

Jaemin rolls back his shoulders and adjusts the strap of the bags, secured to the sides of his horse. Clothes and supplies that should guarantee him to survive the journey up to Jilin.

Ten’s leaned against the doorframe of the barn, chewing on a straw. Not even for Jaemin’s departure could he be bothered to dress up, or even leave the farm to accompany him down to the harbor, where the boat ready to sail him up Jilin is already being prepared by his men.

“Well, whatever I’m missing I can buy once I’m married to the prince, right?”

Ten grins and gives the horse’s haunch a pat. “Hope you don’t forget about your old man when you’re rich. I knew what I was doing when I kept your little ass away from the royals.” He delivers another hearty slap, to Jaemin’s upper arm this time. “Have a good journey, son. Bring me back some of that good old Jilin money.”

With that, Jaemin sets out. Both he and his horse are well rested and well fed, and it takes them only about half a day to reach the western harbors.

“Well, well, see who finally decided to join us.” Jeno is the first to greet him, surfacing from behind a cargo box when he hears hooves approaching. He has two bulky bags slung over his broad shoulders, but they don’t stop him from climbing up to greet him. “His majesty himself!”

He wraps Jaemin in a one-armed hug before dumping one of the bags on him.

The commotion draws attention from the other two men closer to the boat, both dressed in the uniforms of Seoul’s royal guards.

One hand leading his horse by the reins and the other occupied by Jeno’s bag, Jaemin follows him down to the docks.

“Jaemin.” The first guard, shorter and softer in the cheeks than the other, steps forward. He’s the one that Ten hired, a fact Jaemin only knows because he’s seen the lankier one stroll around town with Jeno before. “My name is Lee Donghyuck. I was entrusted with escorting you to the kingdom of Jilin and back.”

Jaemin curtseys, and he can see Jeno suppressing his laughter from the corner of his eyes. Lee Donghyuck, however, only pinches his eyebrows.

“It sure is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Despite him pressing out a “The pleasure is all mine” from between his teeth, Jaemin does not get the feeling that Lee Donghyuck particularly shares the sentiment.

“Well, Jaemin.” Jaemin finds much more pleasure in the sound of Jeno’s voice and turns to him without sparing Lee Donghyuck and his furrowed brows another glance. “I’d like to introduce you to Jisung.”

Jisung stands quite a bit taller than Jaemin himself, his ornate guard uniform a little loose around the shoulders and not quite covering his wrists. He smiles down at Jaemin, but it looks crooked and one of his brows is furrowed in similar fashion to Donghyuck’s.

Habits are hard to shake, apparently, even for a royal guard assisting a peasant boy about to commit treason.

“Jisung won’t come along with us, it would be too obvious if we stole two royal guards.” There‘s a droop to Jeno‘s words, his eyes flit up to Jisung‘s face almost longingly, but Jisung‘s shoulders relax at the confirmation.

All four of them join hands in loading the rest of their cargo onto their rather small, plain boat, a tiny trade barge to not draw any attention from the sea guards. Jaemin claims the chamber in the heart of the boat, and pretends he doesn’t notice when Lee Donghyuck chooses the one farthest away from him.

It’s not like they have to be friends; Donghyuck is only bound to keep him safe.

He deems it better to give Jeno and Jisung some space and alone time to say goodbye, and spends that time conversing with the captain of the boat. An elderly man, singsonging as he trails along the decks and loosens the ropes, and all too willing to entertain Jaemin, if only because his pockets are considerably heavier after Jaemin hired him to set them over.

His eyes disappear between the wrinkles in his cheeks when Jaemin asks him questions.

“If we’re lucky, and the weather doesn’t turn on us too fast, we should be in Jilin in about two weeks from now. It’s not that long of a journey, but this old lady isn’t all that fast, and there’s a bunch of obstacles in the way. Little islands and rocks in the water.”

Jaemin is fine with that. He elected this time of departure far enough ahead for them to be perfectly on time.

While the sun is still in the sky, although hanging low in the afternoon, they set the sails as soon as Jeno treads on board, eyes only slightly shimmery. Jaemin doesn’t ask, but he doesn’t question it when Jeno spends most of the night squished into the little chair in Jaemin’s chamber.

They leave Seoul’s waters behind before they get a chance to regret it.

* * *

Jilin, with green hills stretching far into the horizon below the blue skies, with clear water pouring from springs in the mountains and flooding into the sea, still does not reach the level of beauty of the vast lands that Jaemin was born and raised in, but he has to admit that he is not opposed to calling it beautiful nonetheless.

They arrive in the early morning and settle into the carriage that is already waiting for them, the emblem of Seoul’s royal family painted on the doors on either side. Donghyuck wrinkles his nose.

“What would be the matter, Mr. Lee?” Jaemin asks. He flips another sack of coins into the hand of the captain before he marches over to the vehicle. The horses pulling it are tall, strong and pristine white. Fit for a prince.

“No offense, Mr. Na, but no matter what relation you have to the royal family, you do not get permission to call yourself one of them unless you were officially stated to be by either the king or the queen. And for as long as I have grown up in the kingdom of Seoul, I do not remember that to be the case for you.”

To that, Jaemin only smiles, does not bother to reply.

“Well, let’s get in, shall we?” He opens the door and lets Jeno and Donghyuck climb in before him. “Ah, I feel like I haven’t sat comfortably in weeks. And well, I might not be wrong about that.”

They travel through a bunch of small towns, influenced by the nearby sea if the lingering smell of fish and other sea fruit is anything to go by, until they slowly fade out into small congregations of houses freckled across the hills that then again slowly grow until they form towns, form cities. Eventually, they reach the capital with all its life, its bustling alleys and houses stitched tightly together.

Carriages of other royals from faraway countries, even continents, start to appear as they advance further into the wealthier districts of the city and they follow them to the gates of the palace.

“Looks like we arrived right on time.” Jaemin clasps his hands together and gives Jeno a grin.

They roll through the gates without any complications, a guard opening their door but nodding and stepping away when Donghyuck shows his badge, and the servant by the gates announces their arrival. None of the royals even bother to look up to see that the man exiting the carriage is not the prince of Seoul they know.

Not that their approval makes him any less the prince of Seoul.

* * *

The halls stretch long and wide before them, sunlight flooding in, lighting up the walls in shades of gold and silver. The faces of old royals, in their paintings and statues. They haunt Jaemin down to his rooms.

The maid assigned to them is hardly more than a small girl, braided hair falling long, dress too wide around the arms. Jaemin carries his bags himself, ignores her protests. In Seoul, he knows, the royal family refuses, at least, to employ children this young to serve them. In Jilin, there are no such qualms. Anything to keep their guests well tended to and comfortable. Higher chances of money and a deserving suitor for their prince.

Jaemin has heard all about the royal family of Jilin, stories bubbling out of aunties’ mouths since word reached town that the young and beautiful prince of Jilin was looking to marry outside his own kingdom. How he was abducted as a child, too beautiful for even the most powerful king to resist. A stolen treat, voice coated in sugar, lips like roses, words that caused a war to sweep over a country, with the edge of a giggle.

When he imagines the Prince of Jilin, he sees but a magical creature, dancing across his lids. Fairy-like, elegance in his limbs, hair a dangerous shade of black. The glint of a madman in his eyes, quirk in his lips. The mischief of a man with all the world at his feet, should he command them to.

Instead, what he sees on the throne when he steps into the chandelier lit hall in the very heart of the palace, is a child. He’s thin, a slump to his narrowness. Not a child, Jaemin corrects when he steps closer, but a small adult, a sunken adult. Fear in his eyes as he regards the rows of people in front of him, all come to ask for his hand. His fingers shake on the armrests of his throne, he curls them into his palms.

There is nothing magical about him, he is no fairy, no god. He is merely a boy, scared of his future.

“He’s still pretty.” Jeno stands close to Jaemin, just a step behind him, always by his side. They left Donghyuck by the door. “A bit skinny, could maybe eat a little, but the tales aren’t wrong.”

The tales about his father, how he would wage war against anyone who laid a hand on his son. About his brothers, who gave up their positions so he could claim the throne one day, who rode out to a faraway country to save him from his abductor themselves. About a beauty that leaves entire kingdoms in awe.

Jaemin can testify that they are all true, when the prince turns his head and, for a second too brief, their eyes meet. The flames in Jaemin’s chest reach his heart, for just a moment.

* * *

A brown speck in the flawless red of the petal, standing out against its siblings. Jaemin reaches out a hand, tips of his fingers brushing the softness, like velvet. The smell of life, and fresh earth.

He wandered out into the gardens to get away from Donghyuck. His misery is all the more suffocating, now that they share contained chambers instead of the open sea, bad mood pressing down on Jaemin’s lungs, on Jaemin’s lids, a headache building near his temple with every second they spend together.

The gardens once belonged to the queen of Jilin, and one of the maids told him that you can still feel her spirit out here, if you kneel between her flowers and listen to the pulse of life that flows beneath the earth.

Jaemin did not attend the queen’s funeral, too young for Ten to bring him along. But he remembers buttoning up Ten’s suit, the shaky smile on his face. He remembers sleeping in Jeno’s bed, staying in Jeno’s house, Jeno’s parents watching over him in the weeks Ten was gone, accompanying the royal family up to Jilin. He remembers Jeno’s mother, in the kitchen of the farm, dabbing away the tears under her eyes.

Everyone wept for the queen of Jilin, passing too soon, too young, disease claiming her, leaving behind a broken husband and a line of sons, one more beautiful than the next, just like her. “They all have her eyes,” Jeno’s mother said, Jaemin’s little hand in hers. She was from Jilin herself, and she kept paintings of her royals.

Jaemin did not understand back then, why his people would cry for another country’s queen, but he thinks he feels it now. Kneeling between her flowers, listening to the pulse in the earth, he understands.

“Guests are not supposed to be out here past the bell, sir.” Jaemin raises his head at a voice dipped in honey, reaching into his heart, to find the prince himself by the white gates.

He looks less scared, out here, flowers blooming in his wake, skin of gold in the afternoon sun, fluid, disappearing beneath his white vest. He’s still thin, but it suits him, now, clothes dipping into his waist, pants curling around his ankles, spiralling up his calves. He scrunches his nose, and Jaemin bows his head.

“I’m terribly sorry, your Highness. I was not aware.” He rises to his feet. “I was trying to escape my guard.”

He keeps his head turned down, out of respect, out of awe, because his heart is knocking against his ribcage a little too fast, because this is the prince of Jilin speaking to him, away from the eyes of the palace.

Silence spreads between them, for a second, for two, seeping into the cracks of Jaemins body and the dug up earth beneath his feet. He peeks up between his lashes, sight of the prince distorted but he can see the furrow of his brow, the pinch of his lips. The flash in his eyes as he stares Jaemin down.

“Who are you?” he inquires. The ground crunches as he takes a step forward. “Your vest says you are the prince of Seoul, but I’ve met him and he is not you. Are you an impostor?”

There is harshness to his words, a demand that Jaemin has a hard time escaping. The authority that his mother was known for, one the people craved to obey, and one they grieved after her passing. Jeno’s mother told them stories about how she was not only beautiful, but powerful, a trait she passed on to her sons.

The corners of his mouth lift up, but he keeps his face turned to the ground.

“Speak, or I will call the guards to remove you from the palace grounds. My father will be sure to have you punished accordingly. The prince of Seoul is a guest in our home, and we don’t wish to offend him.”

Jaemin waits until Renjun has finished speaking, patient. He is a prince, and he expects to be treated with respect. The one thing Jaemin can offer him, at least.

“I am not the prince of Seoul that you know, but I am a prince of Seoul.” He raises his head just a little, tests the waters. The prince’s eyes are hard obsidian, but he lowers his head in a nod. “Not the crown prince, which I assume you have met, but I did not think being a crown prince was a requirement.”

They stand for a beat, the silence more contained, now, stretching between their chests and not an inch farther. Seeking for the absent words in their lungs, reaching. Then the prince relaxes, and so does Jaemin.

“You can raise your head. For your own good, I hope you are telling the truth, your Highness.” But the weight in his voice is gone, replaced with a gentleness, a tint of the roses at their feet. The honey coated voice that made nations fall to the prince’s feet. Never in his life has Jaemin been referred to with a title, but it sounds good, it sounds natural, from a mouth like that. “Why are you trying to escape from your guards?”

Jaemin’s neck muscles release, finally, head snapping up. The prince stands a few steps closer than he thought, than would probably be appropriate. A smile. “He’s not the most pleasant person to be around.”

The image of his own smile reflects in the prince’s eyes, just a quirk of his mouth, but that’s enough for Jaemin. Quiet understanding, maybe, a bitter shade of camaraderie, heavy on his tongue. Not that Jaemin knows anything about a prince’s life, really. Donghyuck is not here to contain him.

“What’s your name?”

“Jaemin.” Last names are too giving, too temporary. A last name would give his lie away.

“Prince Jaemin of Seoul.” The prince’s lips move around the words, careful, testing. A weight in his mouth, but the sound is heavenly. “It is nice to meet you. My name is Renjun.”

“That, I know.” People around the world would recognize this face, the intricate details of his features. The sharpness of his eyes down to the softness of his mouth—like a cat, deceiving. His home is brimming with guests, all here to ask for his hand in marriage. And yet, he feels the need to introduce himself.

There is more to his expression, if Jaemin were to look any closer. A hesitancy in his smile, at the thought that everyone knows who he is, the glow of the afternoon sun in his eyes subdued just a little.

A touchy subject, his impeding engagement, is what Jaemin gathers.

He drops back down to one knee, instead, reaching out for the velvet of the rose he was marveling at, color jarring against the smoothness of his palm.

“You are really not supposed to be out here,” Renjun tries again, but his voice has fallen in volume. His hand brushes over the roses, almost like a caress. “They are beautiful, right?”

“Very.” The rose fields stretch wide over the palace grounds, growing wild, barely tamed despite the orderly air over the rest of the estate. They let them grow, let them spiral up the trees and part of the palace walls, roses in every shade. Untamed, like the spirit of the woman who planted them. “I heard stories about Jilin’s roses. How beautiful they are, and how they portray the esteem of your family’s house.”

More roses bloom in the curve of Renjun’s cheeks. “Good to know that even in Seoul they talk about her.” It slips past his lips so easily, without a thought. Of course the garden reminds him of his mother.

“Do you come out here often, then?”

“I used to all the time.” Renjun crouches down himself, little care for his perfect pants when his knee touches the earth. His hands cup the head of a rose. Its reflection tinges the white of his eyes a blood red. “When I was a kid. Not much time to these days, but I come out here when I try to escape from my father for a few moments.”

“So we are both running from someone.” In his chest, Jaemin’s heart flutters just a little when Renjun returns the smile he gives. It’s more than what he baited for.

“Our obligations, I assume.” Words tinted with a smile. The petals of the rose unfold between his palms. “This is a Grandiflora. The maids love these, because they are so big, and they are easy to keep.” His finger trails along the edge of the petal, beautiful pink. “They don’t smell as strongly, either. They like to put them up for decorations, for my father’s balls, or when guests come for dinner, but I hate to see them cut them.”

Jaemin has seen sprays of roses around the palace, struck up on doors, wound around pillars. The maids wore headbands decorated with them, every guest was presented with one upon entry. Roses, flowers of love. This is a political arrangement, and they try to convey an image of the prince falling in love.

But roses are Jilin’s hallmark. One blooms on their flag, between the prongs of the golden crown.

“My father loves them, too. He keeps hundreds of them in his rooms, because they remind him of her.” Renjun releases the rose—they watch its petals fall open, resuming their position. A play of nature. He reaches just a little farther, hands cupping another. “These are my favorites. My mom’s books call them _rosa chinensis_ , China Roses. I don’t let the servants cut these.”

Its colors are different, spreading on its petals. The sunrise over the sea, when Jaemin would sit on the docks of the western harbors. The warm red of Ten’s kitchen wall, the yellow of the wheat Jeno’s father brought home.

“Why are they your favorites?”

Renjun looks up, full of wonder, like he almost forgot that Jaemin is there next to him. He smiles, eyes drunk with shine. “They grow in bushes, and they are not as easily tamed. And they are pretty.”

They are, resting against the plane of his hands, a backdrop of gentle gold. Jaemin wishes he could paint, just for a day, could capture the beauty in front of him. Perceiving it feels too shallow; he longs to share it.

He raises his eyes to find Renjun already looking at him, the soft curve of his lids, a slow blink. The smile fades from his lips, but not from his face. They stay for a moment before he speaks again.

“I’ve always liked pretty things.”

* * *

Jaemin’s shoulder knocks against Jeno’s, someone bumps into his side, Jeno’s hand rests warm on his back to steady him. They jostle a girl, too young looking to be here, and she stares at them, affronted.

The candles tinge the room a soft orange, burning over their heads, wide arms of the golden chandeliers. The air vibrates with the flicker of the fire and the roar of conversation, men shouting, their words slurred with either warmth or the wine in their cups. Trying so hard to overtone one another, bragging, boasting.

A man not too far from where Jaemin and Jeno stand, with their shoulders pressed together, shows off a collection of war trophies, gold and silver, the bones of an enemy. His voice is the loudest at their table, he stands taller than most of the other men, cape stretching over broad shoulders. But his face is handsome, strong-jawed, like carved from marble, and that is perhaps the most unfair. The guests hang onto his every word.

Jaemin returned from the gardens to find Jeno asleep and Donghyuck still brooding, so he and Jeno left him in his bed when they dispatched this morning to join the other guests in the hall.

His Highness, the Crown Prince of Seoul stands at a table in the center of the room, the red and blue of his vest unmistakable. He has yet to spot Jaemin, has yet to declare his horror at the present impostor, only to find out who he really is. Jaemin holds the ace in this game, Prince Yukhei just isn’t aware of the round starting yet.

The room falls quiet, all at once, when a horn is blown and the presence of the royal family is announced.

Five men, in order of rank, the king, the crown prince, the other princes arranged by age, they stride onto their podium, the thrones overlooking the room. There is a space behind the king, in front of Renjun, still reserved for the queen, after all these years.

The air stands still, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Jaemin barely dares to breathe. Craned necks to catch a look at Renjun, the reason for everyone’s presence. Not a muscle in Renjun’s face moves.

The tension snaps, finally, when the royal men sit down, conversation erupting. Men on the tables, men on the ground, few and far between a lady or a princess standing on a chair, waving her hands. Everything to garner the attention of the king, of the boy next to him. The most desired person on earth.

It is, finally, a man at Jaemin’s table that is chosen to speak first. The room falls quiet once more when the king beckons him forward to state his case.

Under the golden light of the fires, Renjun’s face looks hard, more so than it did yesterday.

“My name is Nakamoto Yuta, first cousin to the prince of Osaka.” His hair falls down to his elbows, wound in thick ropes of red, contrasting against the white of his vest like blood. One of the maids must have stuck a rose into his collar, charming. “I rode against the bandits from the west, and my father was a commander in the old wars. My family has stood beside the kingdom of Jilin for centuries, and I come bearing many gifts from my side of the continent for the prince. It would please my cousin greatly if I were to marry into Jilin.”

A row of royals and nobles of different ranks follow his example, stepping forward to introduce themselves to the king. They all promise gifts and political advantage, boast about their family connections and the achievements and the loyalty of their ancestors. It is a sight to see, how they bend over backwards to gain the sympathy of the king—and, by that, the hand of the prince.

It goes on for hours, or so Jaemin feels, before Prince Yukhei steps forward.

The tension in the room is palpable, royals and nobles alike holding their breath as the crown prince of Seoul rises from his seat to bow before the king. The golden pins on his vest gleam, polished.

Jaemin could never stand the sight of him, his perfect face, his practiced smile, but the presence of such high rank royals always made the people’s blood freeze. Ten would take him out to the royal parades, before he was old enough to protest, and the people would fall to their knees at his sight, even when he was a child.

“My name is Yukhei, Crown Prince of Seoul.” His voice fills out the edges of the hall, drills into Jaemin’s chest, shakes him down to his heart. “My father sends me with the wish of a strong alliance between Jilin and our home.” There is not much more he needs to say, not when the world kisses Seoul’s feet.

Only when he sits back down does Jaemin hear Jeno release his breath. He reaches out for him under the table, their hands slick with sweat when they slide together.

The man from their table they heard boasting earlier gets up next, sweep of golden hair and a dimple. A lady killer they would write a book about, hearts from kingdoms all over the world tucked under his belt. He stands proud, tall, even in front of the king the line of his shoulders doesn’t waver.

“Your Majesty, your Highness, may I introduce myself.” Voice dripping like honeyed milk, thick and warm and sickly sweet. He’s not asking a question. “My name is Prince Yoonoh. I come from those faraway lands in the south, the kingdom of Busan, with this special request from my father, but also from me. I have led many soldiers, and I have earned my title as the prince of my country.”

Renjun has yet to move a muscle, show a reaction to any of his suitors. He sits still, a statue carved into his throne, if not for the rise and fall of his chest. The cold marble of his skin looks so different from the rose tinted gold Jaemin saw in the gardens not twenty four hours ago.

His father, however, leans forward just a little, at the same time as Prince Yoonoh steps forward.

He lowers his head, nose sinking low, but his eyes strike up Renjun’s form, so evidently even Jaemin can see, and lets out a sigh dramatic enough to make every last lady in the kingdom clutch her pearls. “Unfortunately, my father has lost his claim to the throne to his cousin a few years ago, and while he is fighting for it back home, I was sent here, upon my own request, to restore my bloodline’s honor.”

Not much of your family history can stay hidden when you are a royal appearing in front of the king of another country, but Yoonoh is playing his cards wisely. He has learned how to talk.

Jaemin, raised in a barn by a peasant servant and his best friend’s farmer parents, never learned how to keep his mouth shut. Not even when he gets up in the dining hall of the King of Jilin, not even when he feels the temperature in the room drop by a few degrees as the guests spot his vests, not even when Renjun looks at him.

“I am Prince Jaemin of Seoul,” his mouth says, resurfacing from his bow. There are no shiny pins on his red drape, there are stares burning into his back, but he keeps his eyes on the goal.

Renjun’s face is as still as ever, but he’s shifted in his throne, slipped down just a little, tip of his shoe against the marble floor and the line of his back more relaxed than it’s been for the past hours.

Jaemin bows again, to the princes, this time, and says, “I have no achievements to tell you of.” His eyes follow the curve of Renjun’s fingers, wound around the intricate detail of his armrest, tapping against it. “I have never fought a war, I have never even attended a formal meeting, the only thing I have to offer you is my good honor, my loyalty and the fact that I am nevertheless a prince.” He looks up at Renjun’s face, now, the deep sea of his eyes, locked for everyone, and lets his lips quirk up.

The silence is icy, not between him and the prince, but the one hanging over the room. Prince Yukhei is hissing something at his guard, a demand for the impostor to be removed, maybe, but Jaemin only has eyes for Renjun. Eyes so enticing, so deep, coaxing him forward, inviting him to drown.

It’s a risk, a dangerous step forward, into his own demise. Jaemin lets himself fall.

“And, well, my father has never lost his claim to the throne, for whatever that’s worth here.”

Icy daggers dig into his back, Prince Yoonoh’s eyes ablaze as the frosty quiet spreads into every corner of the room, dangerously still, the blood in Jaemin’s veins slowing. But for the first time tonight, the corners of Renjun’s mouth tilt up, a crinkle to his eyes, and it’s by far enough to melt the pain.

Enough, even when the eyes of the king rest on him, to lift the weight of his shoulders.

* * *

His hand glides down the smooth surface of the jar, glass almost warm against his palm. The yellow primroses match those braided into the princess’s hair, and the colors of her pants.

The flowers are by far one of the most valuable gifts he has received today.

“Thank you very much, your Highness.” Renjun’s finger traces the stems, and intricate pattern, as confusing and natural as the roses outside. “This is a very gracious gift. I have heard the stories of how important these flowers are to your home. The tale of how your castle was built.”

Princess Joohyun smiles, and he can’t help but marvel at her beauty. Certainly a pleasant person to be around, polite and careful with her words, wisdom in every one of them. The kingdom of Daegu is a powerful ally, enough funds to sustain a strong economy, fearless troops led and trained by the queen herself.

Someone he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with, if only because he knows that Joohyun is only looking for an alliance, protection for her people, and is friendly enough.

“To this day, the gardens only grow primroses and periwinkles. You should come see them, some day.”

Her robes fly behind her retreating figure, when his father dismisses her, long and fit for a princess who doesn’t wear dresses. A periwinkle blue compromise.

Renjun sets her pot of flowers down, gently as not to jostle their delicate petals, a little apart from the heaps of gold and vases and jewels the other suitors have brought in. Gifts to win their sympathies, to impress, maybe only because it’s standard form to bring gifts if you come into another family’s home. Nothing they would miss, nothing that was truly valuable to them, nothing they were serious about, except for the flowers. The kingdom of Daegu values their primroses almost as much as Jilin values their roses.

He sinks back into his throne, and looks up to find Kun already looking at him.

“You like her.” It’s not a question, but he says it like one.

Renjun scoffs, leans back. His older brothers have been trying to find a suited partner for him just as hard as his father has. “I wouldn’t go that far.” His eyes trace the path she took out the room, particles of glitter in her wake, cascading from her hair. “I think she would be acceptable. Not as obnoxious.”

“It’s rare to find, he’s right.” Chenle stretches out his legs. His hat sits crooked on his head, but their father has yet to notice. “Obnoxious is just what royals seem to do, generally.”

Renjun suppresses a snicker only because he’s not in the mood to be scolded. His day has been bad enough.

Jaemin disappeared from the throne room after his introduction last night, likely to avoid being arrested of royal offense, and even when Renjun snuck past his guards, searched the gardens and the halls for a trace of him, asked the maids in charge of the guest quarters, it seemed as if he had vanished off the face of the earth.

“That is no way to speak about our family, or our equals, Chenle,” their father says. Renjun is barely listening. “You will apologize immediately.”

“I’m sorry, father. It won’t happen again.” It most certainly will, when their father is not around to hear.

“Good, you are forgiven. Now, fix that hat of yours before the guests see how sloppy you are.”

“Yes, father.” Chenle tilts his hat right back to the other side and sticks his tongue out at him as soon as their father turns his back on him. Renjun can’t hold back a smile this time.

The doors swing open to reveal a servant, and they all pull into position. No stretched out limbs or slumped postures or languid smiles about silly antics; they sit like drawn on strings, picture perfect. A royal family that has a hold on themselves has a hold over their country. Even if it’s all pretense, and most of it is.

“Prince Jaemin of Seoul,” the servant announces and disappears to clear the view on the entering prince.

Jaemin looks good even in the harsh chandelier light, highlighting the clear lack of pins on his chest, bare for the one that identifies him as a member of Seoul’s royal family. Renjun doubts that his father misses this, as he leans forward just a little, tense, to examine the suitor more closely.

He falls into a deep bow in front of their thrones before he even speaks.

“Your Majesty, your Highnesses. I am so thankful that you are willing to entertain me again.” With his head still bowed, his eyes flit up to meet Renjun’s. They are lit up with an invisible grin, a fire burning within that Renjun isn’t sure anyone else can see. This is for him. “I am aware that my words last night caused great offense, and I want to take this opportunity to sincerely apologize for disturbing the peace of your home.”

The vase he sets down in front of them is designed beautifully, intricate carvings of the gods and flowers and quotes from their scriptures very distinctly Seoul-esque. It is filled to the brim with golden coins and jewels, things that hold no value for Renjun, until his hands brush against Jaemin’s wrists.

A crackle in the tips of his fingers, Jaemin’s hands so close, close enough to hold, if he wanted to.

He wants to.

His hands close around the vase instead, eyes flitting down to escape the fire in Jaemin’s.

“I bring this as a humble gift from my father, as well as from me, to possibly gain your sympathies and support, but also to apologize for my behavior. I hope you will be so kind as to accept this.”

“Of course we do, Prince Jaemin.” Renjun speaks, chokes the words in his father’s throat before they reach his lips. A smile quirks Jaemin’s mouth, the flames in his eyes when Renjun finally looks at him again. “Everyone is welcome in our home, even people with a bad sense of humor.”

Mirth sneaks an edge into his voice, akin to a laugh. Sicheng stares him down, lets the facade crack to send a warning glance, just for a second. Do not disrupt father, stay in your place. Obey. Worries that Renjun drowns in the expanse of Jaemin’s smile, stretching across his face, stretching for Renjun.

His father knows not to speak against him, not in front of a guest, to keep the picture, to not risk offending a guest from such a high rank family. The only power Renjun wields is his father’s sense of self preservation.

“The crown prince is right, we welcome everyone in Jilin. Nevertheless, we still appreciate your apology.” A smile strains the king’s cheek, hand closing around the armrest of the throne. He leans back, distances himself. “I do have one question. We were only notified of the arrival of one prince from Seoul, Prince Yukhei, who did not disappoint with his striking introduction yesterday. When did your father decide to send you, as well?”

Jaemin parries with ease, widening his smile. A little less real. “Ah, did my father’s last messenger not reach you? We figured this might have been the case, we never heard back from him.”

It’s an act, a play executed even on Jaemin’s face. Muscles like dolls, and Jaemin is the one pulling the strings. An act Renjun sees through with ease, only because he witnessed Jaemin closing up himself, saw the barriers rise in his eyes before he spoke, hiding his flames. His father stands fooled.

“But why? It doesn’t seem wise to play brothers out as rivals.”

Another pull, Jaemin’s smile crooked to the right, just an edge of rebellious. Just short of tipping into disrespectful, the same joke all over again. “A little bit of rivalry, of friendly competition, if you will, is good for every brotherly relationship, don’t you think, your Majesty? My father thought Yukhei could use a blow to his ego.”

It’s no way to talk about your family, Renjun can hear the words on the tip of his father’s tongue.

The silence that falls over them is noxious, almost suffocating, and the king lets them choke on it for a minute, for two, before he speaks on. “May I ask why you intend on marrying my son?”

The smile spreads a little wider, gets less real with every crinkle that appears under Jaemin’s eyes. “Now, the first reason is that I am of course not blind, nor am I deaf. Even the farthest countries talk of the crown prince’s beauty, his incredible grace, and his kindness. It would be an honor to marry him.” Jaemin’s eyes find their way back to Renjun, the upwards contortion of his lips seems almost involuntary. “Secondly, no matter if it’s me or my brother, one of the Seoul princes marrying into the kingdom of Jilin would promise an alliance of two of the greatest kingdoms on earth. We would be invincible together, as I’m sure you know.”

“Why would you choose you over your brother? Is there anything you have to offer that he doesn’t?”

Jaemin’s smile shortens, just a little, as he considers. Maybe a question he has never been asked before. “No one forces you to choose me over my brother, not even me. I would be happy either way, I just want the best for my people. The only thing I have to offer is that I am not a crown prince, and that I would be able to support Prince Renjun as he rules here, while my brother has his own kingdom to rule.”

“Prince Renjun is not bound to this duty. He is the crown prince of Jilin right now, but should his marriage bind him to rule another country, one of his brothers shall take his place.”

A thousand daggers to his heart, carried in his father’s words. They are already lodged in place, buried deep in the soft matter, and the king’s own hand presses them in deeper every time. His main function is marrying someone of high rank and form an alliance to protect his country from the troops of the west. He knows that only after that, he is the future king. Only if nothing else is in the way.

Jaemin nods. It looks like he is bowing his head to the king, but his eyes find Renjun. A silent question, a flash in his eyes, something golden. Something warm, a hand for Renjun to cling onto, if he needed to.

He is dismissed soon after, a flick of the king’s wrist and he makes his way out with another bow, a little clumsy. The king scoffs, leans back in his throne. The curtain drops once more.

“You were right about this one, father.” It’s Sicheng who speaks, for the first time tonight. “He certainly is strange. Does he not know how to behave in front of another country’s king, or does he believe that his clumsy form and attitude are charming? Is that his strategy?”

The king shakes his head. “In either case, he has not been raised right. He will never marry Renjun.”

Deep in Renjun’s chest, the daggers ache once more. They speak of him, discuss his life and his future like he’s not sitting in their middle, a guard crosses Prince Jaemin’s name off the list without asking for his thoughts.

He belongs not to himself, but to the public and his father’s rule, and it hurts just a little.

Instead of raising his voice, instead of screaming and kicking for freedom, though, he sits still in his throne, folds his hands in his lap. Pliant, like his father expects of him. No one is to know of the war inside his head, the thoughts of breaking free. He sits, still, and stares as Jaemin’s name is crossed out.

Something is off about that particular prince, in the way he holds himself, his shoulders slumped, a foot in front of the other as if he has to remind himself to bow, the way he speaks like he fears no man or punishment, the way his own brother stares at him. Almost angry, hatred burning beneath.

There is something going on, and Renjun is dying to find out.

* * *

“Guests are not supposed to be out here past the bell, sir.”

Jaemin looks up from the red sea of roses to find Renjun standing by the gates, the hint of a smile on his lips, in his voice, instead of a scowl. He smiles back at him.

“I am positive that the bell hasn’t rung yet, your Highness. I was very careful to pay attention this time.”

Renjun crosses the distance between them, wades through the flower beds to reach the small bench Jaemin is perched on. Years of the queen and later the maids and servants tilling the gardens have left winding paths between the flowers, ones Jaemin has to pick out with care as to not step on the beautiful petals, but Renjun knows them by heart, slips between the stems without thought.

“What brings you out here today?” Renjun asks when he reaches the bench. He doesn’t sit down, so Jaemin has to stare up at him. Even from an unflattering angle, he’s gorgeous. “Are you running from your guard again?”

Jaemin’s gaze follows his own fingers, tapping down the soft petal of the rose in front of him. The red stands out like blood against the gold of his skin. “Ah, my guard certainly has been annoying me.” Donghyuck was enraged when he found out what happened in the throne hall, but there’s no need to stir that up again.

Renjun considers his answer, stare burning down Jaemin’s skin. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”

Jaemin smiles, broad and wide in a way that would make Ten flip him on the head, tell him to cut it out because he was just being obnoxious, not cute. If the blush on the swell of Renjun’s cheek is any indicator, he doesn’t seem to think so. “Actually, I was hoping that you would find me out here, you Highness.”

“You were waiting for me? How very princely. I’m charmed.”

No amount of sarcasm laid thick in his words can hide the redness of his face, or the way his eyes flick down to stare at the ground instead of Jaemin’s smile.

“I could tell that you love these gardens, so I figured it was only a matter of time. I wanted to see you again.”

“You see me every day, I’m never far from the guests.” He’s not allowed to be, is what Jaemin assumes he doesn’t say. He’s supposed to always be within eye sight of his suitors, so that they can marvel at him and try even harder. Like a pig on the market. “In fact, you just saw me earlier today in the throne room.”

“Did I see you, or did I see the crown prince?” Renjun furrows his brow, and Jaemin explicates, “The man in the throne room was not the man I met out here. You look much realer outside your father’s reach.”

There is no carefully constructed mask over Renjun’s eyes out here, protection over his most inner feelings nothing more than a thin sheen, Jaemin can see when surprise colors him pink. Unrestricted without his father hovering over him, just like he was last time. A real person, as opposed to the puppet wandering the halls.

Out here, the setting sun paints golden stars into his eyes, the roses bloom under his smile.

Renjun doesn’t answer him, brushes a hand through the flowers in front of him, shakes out his hair. It’s no longer slicked back like it was earlier. He looks softer like this.

“Care to join me for a walk?” he asks instead. “There are more flowers back there, let me show you.”

Renjun meanders through the sea of flowers—some of them high enough to reach his hips, others so small Jaemin has trouble seeing them—like Jeno’s parents do in the golden fields at home. Careful, every single plant too precious to be hit even by the tip of a foot. Jaemin must look like a fool behind him, stumbling to follow his example. The giggle in Renjun’s throat when he looks back at him makes it all worth it.

“Do you grow any flowers in the gardens of the Seoul castle? I’ve never heard any stories.”

Jaemin has never been to the gardens, Ten made sure to keep him away from the castle grounds. Too much a risk, what if the royals saw him? He looks too much like his mother to go unnoticed.

“There are some, of course, but we don’t have any gardeners, so all the work is done only if the servants have the time.” Better to spin a lie for now than let Renjun know the truth. Not yet. “My mother enjoys other activities in her free time.” He has seen the queen of Seoul in her expensive robes and could never imagine that she would kneel in the dirt for something as simple and worthless of her time as a flower.

Images of Mrs. Lee in her rough pants, sleeves rolled back, hands blistered and stained with the brown of the earth. Still in the kitchen after hours on the field, a laugh on her lips when Ten served dinner.

He’s glad that he was raised by her instead of the queen, even if their home was small and poor.

“Must be a pretty sad looking garden, then.” Renjun smiles, the tips of his fingers resting against the petal of a rose. There’s no bite in his words, and Jaemin doesn’t take offense. “Without all of the flowers.”

Mr. Lee made sure that there was color in the house, stocked up the boxes outside the windows, watered the plots outside the front door, brought bouquets for his wife when he came home from his travels. So many that Jeno stole them to tuck them behind the ears of pretty girls, to give them to Jisung.

Jaemin smiles, perfect mask. “Yes, I wish there were as many as here. It’s so beautiful.”

They reach a new part of the garden, one that Jaemin has never seen. Not that he’s spent much times wandering these fields, but he still stuns at the wide sea of orange and peach roses, not single one red.

“These are some of my favorites.” Renjun descends the small hill that separates them from the flowers, reaches out a hand for Jaemin to follow him. Small palm warm and soft under Jaemin’s fingers. “I like the red ones, but they are a bit extreme sometimes, don’t you think?”

Jaemin has no real opinion on the colors of roses, but he nods. His hand still rests in the warmth of Renjun’s, and his brain doesn’t know how to deal. “What about the white ones? Do you like them?”

Renjun halts, his fingers slip away from Jaemin’s. The air feels colder than before when Jaemin pulls his own hand back. It takes Renjun a few moments to reply, now caressing another flower’s head. “The white ones were my mother’s favorites.” There’s no hurt in Renjun’s words, nothing to give him away, but it still feels like a blow to Jaemin’s chest. “They decorated her coffin with them, and stopped growing them here on my father’s command.”

In a moment of bravery, Jaemin prods, “But did you like them? Before, I mean.”

Renjun smiles, continues down the small path deeper into the middle of the flowers, under a wooden arch for the flowers to wind up on. “I loved everything that she did.”

A painting in the Lee’s living room, the queen of Jilin in a simple dress, sitting in between her flowers, a little boy in her lap. They’re holding a rose together, a white one. “That’s her favorite son,” Mrs. Lee said when she found Jaemin staring at it. “My relatives say he follows her everywhere, always clinging to her skirt.”

That was before the queen died, when Renjun still had a mother whose skirt he could cling to.

“I’m very sorry for asking about that, your Highness. That was very invasive and insensitive of me.”

Renjun looks back at him, the red of the sun in his eyes. His smile isn’t sad. “No need to apologize, your own Highness.” His eyes crinkle up and he reaches out a hand once more. “Thank you, though. Not everyone recognizes when they are being mean, especially not royals. So thank you for being thoughtful.”

Jaemin takes his hand, smiles back. Hard to believe that his royal act is failing because he’s being too nice. Ten would laugh at him if he told him he had to learn how to be even more of an asshole to succeed here.

The evening breeze is fresh and cool over the palace grounds, ruffles Jaemin hair, crawls under his vest, under the thin dress shirt he stole from Jeno. He sticks to Renjun for warmth, and they have never been this close to each other, Jaemin has never realized just how much height he has on the prince.

In the tower, sticking out into the sky, pale finger of warning, the bell tolls. Renjun keeps walking, and his hand is too warm, shoots too many arrows of beautiful pain up Jaemin’s arm for him to let go.

“Shouldn’t we head back? Before the guards start their rounds.”

Renjun smiles, they are almost too close for Jaemin to see. Soft curve of pink under the cascade of black hair. “I don’t know if I should count it as a good sign that you already know when the guards come out.”

“Well, I wasn’t caught yet, so I think that’s a pretty good sign, overall.”

It’s a laugh, this time, spilling from the plush of his lips, disturbs the peace of the flowers not more than a gust of wind would. Pearl white teeth, just short of being crooked, and Jaemin adds them to his collection of things he knows about Renjun. Every detail of his face is burnt into the back of Jaemin’s mind, picture so pristine perfect it almost hurts to think of, and yet he still finds more about him with every time he looks at him.

“The guards won’t bother us as long as no one else notices us and we don’t disturb anyone. I’m not supposed to be meeting any of the suitors privately, but most of the guards are on my side.”

“And what side would that be?”

He watches as Renjun’s fingers dance down the head of another rose, in passing, petals swaying the breeze. “I think you are smart enough of a man to understand how I feel about my father’s plans.”

Jaemin does understand, he did see the frown on Renjun’s face in the throne room, the curtain that fell for a fraction of a second when the king talked about his son’s purpose. A prize to be won, not a prince to be crowned. A treasure for a faraway king to score, the title placed upon his head in vain.

“You don’t want to marry?” he asks, careful not to startle Renjun after a moment of silence.

“I don’t want to marry someone I’ve never met, and I don’t want to marry for the sole purpose of helping my father’s political agendas.” He halts at a small bench, much like the one he found Jaemin on. Sits down, wide skirt of his coat fanning out around his legs. He gestures for Jaemin to sit. “And, if we’re being frank, I want to be king.”

Renjun has a smile like many others Jaemin has seen before. In dark taverns at the western harbors, smoke in their lungs and in their eyes, the dreams of a better future. Drowned in liquor.

For some reason, it is much more intriguing to see a smile like that in a place like this.

This, a garden full of roses, a dungeon full of gold, polished pins attached to expensive vests and a silver crown sitting between locks of black, is what the people dream of where Jaemin is from. But this boy has it all, and he wants none of it, not from the looks of it.

The necklace that rests in the dip between his collarbones is worth more than the house Jaemin grew up in, and yet, in the world Renjun paints in his head he is granted only one thing: Freedom.

“But you would want to marry, if you were free to choose?”

He almost forgets about Renjun’s hand in his own, until Renjun’s fingers squeeze around his own, and he smiles. The sparks in his arm have never felt this good, have never reached this far into his heart. “You ask a lot of questions, Jaemin of Seoul.” Renjun smiles back. “But yes, if I had free reign over my life, I’m sure I would like to marry the person I love. I’d just have to find them first.”

With the way Renjun laughs, sound warm and small in his mouth, the low rumble in his chest when he speaks, Jaemin thinks that that particular part of getting married might not be all that hard on his part.

* * *

“His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Renjun of Jilin.”

The king’s rooms are always dark except for the fireplace and a few candles lit around the vases on the table, pushed up against the wall. He has the servants keep the windows shut and the curtains drawn even in the middle of the day, doesn’t like the sunlight disturbing the peace of where she once lay.

His mother loved the sun. The windows in her study were always open to let as much light and air in as possible, and she spent so much of her time outside. Carried Renjun through her gardens when he was still too small to walk, skin a deep gold under her long robes. Even when she fell ill, she asked her handmaid to throw open the window in her room, and Renjun remembers hiding under her covers with her to escape the cold.

His parents didn’t marry out of love, he’s always known that. Teachers would use his mother’s noble example, an important princess from Shanghai marrying the prince of Jilin, to lecture him about his future.

The king yearns for her, misses her, might think that he loved her, after all, but he never truly knew her. If he did, he wouldn’t cut her roses, wouldn’t forbid her favorite flower from growing in her gardens, wouldn’t banish the sunlight from these halls. Wouldn’t force her favorite son into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“Renjun.” His father turns around in his chair, smiles without warmth. “Please have a seat, son.”

He sits, sinks into the red cushion of the couch. These rooms are always too warm, no way for the heat of the fire to escape, stink too much of the perfume the king makes the servants spritz on the roses.

They sit in silence. Renjun waits for his father to start the lecture he so obviously intended, but the king instead focuses on the book in his lap, frowns in concentration. It’s not a book Renjun recognizes, but it doesn’t look unusual. The cover bears the stamp of the royal Jilin library.

“Father,” he opens after a minute. Jaemin is surely waiting for him already, and Renjun had no way of letting him now that he was summoned to a private audience with his father. “Did you call me up for a reason?”

“Why so impatient?” The king places a cord between the pages and sets the book down on his desk, small candle just big enough for him to find his way around. He smiles once more, and there is intent behind it this time. Renjun’s shoulders tense up. “I don’t reckon that you have anywhere else to be tonight? Unless, of course, you planned on meeting with your little lover boy. In which case I’ll be happy to tell you that he’ll already have been escorted back to his rooms by the guards I sent to the gardens just before I sent for you.”

He laughs when Renjun’s lips shorten into a straight line. Every word he speaks makes the muscles in Renjun’s back tighten more, ready to jump if given the prompt.

“Ah, of course.” The king’s eyes crescent, but they have been dull for years. Wrinkly fingers browse over the papers on the table between them. “You thought your old man wouldn’t notice you sneaking out of your rooms every night after the bell to meet with one of the suitors. I’ll be fully honest with you, son, I feared that this would happen, so I had one of my most trusted guards follow you and report your activities to me.”

Renjun sits completely straight, no muscle, no tendon falling out of line, face schooled into perfect calm. Thinks of Jaemin’s smile and the pink tips of his cheeks and of how he’ll tear down the palace brick by brick if his father dared to lay any harm on him.

“Prince Jaemin can be very happy that he wasn’t caught with you tonight, this way he was only brought back to his rooms with a mild warning. It could’ve been much worse. You don’t want to put him in danger, do you?”

It’s not a question he expects Renjun to answer, but he sighs when he doesn’t, anyway.

“Of course, though, I shouldn’t even address him as a prince, should I?”

This is when Renjun allows himself to move, eyes snapping up, fixes his father’s face in a stare. The muscles in his neck threaten to snap. “What do you mean?”

Yellow, crooked teeth between paper thin lips, a slash across his face, that’s all there is to his father’s smile, not even a wrinkling of his eyes this time. “Ah yes, of course he wouldn’t have told you. Wouldn’t want to lose his chances with you, I understand.” His laugh bounces off the walls with no joy.

Renjun doesn’t know what he means, can’t read between the lines this time, the lines of his words, the lines on his face. The king guards his secrets, and he smiles even broader when Renjun frowns.

“You see, about twenty years ago, the king and queen of Seoul had a second son after the crown prince. I forget what they named him, and I’m sure they’ve forgotten, too, because they sent him away to be killed the day after his birth. He was prophesied to be the downfall of the kingdom of Seoul, so they got rid of him.” His wrinkly fingers caress along the armrest of his chair, and Renjun’s eyes can’t help but follow. “A boy born into the royal family of Seoul under two stars, the flaming torch, the downfall of Seoul, I remember like it was yesterday.

They sent one of their servants into the mountains with the baby, and he returned a few days later to present them with the tongue of the child. Except, if you want to believe the old and wise theorists, then the tongue was actually a dog’s, and the servant raised the boy like his own because he couldn’t bear to kill an infant.”

Renjun watches his father, watches the wrinkles in his face smoothen when his smile finally vanishes, stares into his soul as he stares back. “So what you’re saying is—”

The king nods. “I had never heard of a Prince Jaemin of Seoul, so I checked the records, and the only registered Jaemin I could find in the capital of Seoul was the son of a single father, a former servant, raising his son in a small family of farmers. The boy was born around the same time, no recorded mother.”

“His mother could’ve died in childbirth.”

“She wasn’t listed at all, not a single mention of her or the birth in general. The child could’ve popped out of thin air, all he has is his unmarried father and the family they live with.”

Renjun doesn’t know what else to say, rests a hand in his lap, the other tapping along his chin. “Jaemin is not a prince.” He doesn’t act like one, talks too brash, laughs too loud, holds Renjun’s hand when he offers it even if he should refuse. “Why haven’t you kicked him out, then? Why is he still here?”

“There’s no need.” The king shrugs. “I get to choose who marries you, and it will never be him. Why not let him stick around and watch? Sure makes for a good kind of pain, getting all caught up and then separated, hm?”

His father has always been a cruel motherfucker, tortures his enemies in the worst possible ways. It’s not a popular fact, the golden light that his mother shed on Jilin still glosses over the strings his father pulls in the background. He was never a very kind or caring monarch, but he had a kind and caring wife to make up for it.

Renjun and his brothers are the ones who get to experience his cruelty firsthand.

“What are you going to do to him once I’m married and he’s gone?”

The king laughs again. “Renjun, I truly do think you think I’m more bothered about this than I am. He may be a prince by birth, but he’s not recognized as a member of the royal family of Seoul. He’s a peasant boy. I’ll let him go home and he’ll find a nice wife and have a couple of babies and for the rest of his life he’ll tell stories about how he almost had an affair with the prince of Jilin and no one will believe him.”

Of course his father would not bother himself with a peasant lowlife more than he needs to. Even if the peasant lowlife in question has a beautiful smile and cheeks that tinge pink when he laughs.

“Unless.” Renjun’s eyes snap up again to meet his father’s, ice cold shower over his back at the single word. “Unless, of course, you start meeting with him again. The only thing I ask of you is that you stay away from him, and neither of you will be punished for this. If you two are ever caught together again, you will both face consequences, and I really don’t think you’d like to see anything happen to that perfect face, would you?”

There is no point in denying when his father already knows everything. No point in trying defend his honor when he’s already dug too deep for Renjun to hide. “I would not.”

The king smiles. “That’s what I thought. Do as I say, and nothing will happen to you or your pretty liar.” He picks the book back up from the desk, flips to his page. His attention shifts. “You’re dismissed.”

In every crevice in the wall on his way out, Renjun sees Jaemin’s face. Smiling.

* * *

The door bangs against the wall hard enough to almost fly out of its hinges, but Jaemin doesn’t even flinch.

“What did you do?” Donghyuck’s face appears above him, cheeks burnt a fiery red that Jaemin assumes does not only come from sprinting down the corridors. Jeno hides a grin behind his palm.

“I didn’t do anything.” He does his best to give Donghyuck his most innocent smile, never minding the snicker Jeno is trying to suppress now. Pulls his blanket a little higher over his chest and blinks up at Donghyuck. “Can you close the door? The hallways are rather cold, and I don’t want to get sick.”

Donghyuck scoffs, throws the door shut again. “There’s no need for you to nurse your health, your _Highness,_ because we’re leaving. Pack your things, we’re getting in the carriage before the sun sets tonight.”

“Ah, I really don’t think that that’s what’s gonna happen today, Donghyuckie.” Jaemin smiles, cranes his neck back to look at Jeno, who’s switched to concentrating on his palms to hide the smile on his face. “What do you think, Jeno? Should we go home tonight?”

Jeno would sure like to go home any second, Jaemin knows, if only for the fact that his boy is waiting for him, but for the sole purpose of humiliating Donghyuck—a new favorite pastime of the two of them that they’ve discovered in the past few weeks—he pretends to think for a second. Shakes his head.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, aren’t you in the middle of wooing the prince?”

Jaemin nods, gives Donghyuck his best puppy eyes. “He’s right, and, as you know, wooing the prince is my main objective here, and it’s a very important task. Also, didn’t I see you with the duke’s son earlier?”

Donghyuck’s cheeks shoot impossibly more red, eyes narrowing. Jaemin saw him, just around the corner of the throne room, after lunch. Giggle in his words loud and clear with his eyes on the boy in front of him. Just the way Jaemin has caught himself looking at Renjun, when he wasn’t careful.

“I don’t think it’s any of your business who I talk to.”

“Mhm.” Jaemin smiles, lets it take over his face, and not even Jeno tries to hide his grin anymore. “Whatever you say. I won’t ask what you were doing before the guards alerted you, then.”

If Donghyuck’s cheeks were to get any redder, his head might just explode. “That’d be wise.”

He takes his leave, probably a smart move, retracts into his own room to deal with the heat in his cheeks. Leaves Jeno and Jaemin to continue their conversation from before.

“Well, that was fun.” Jaemin sits up in his bed, pulls his blanket with him. “How many times has he threatened us with going home now? At least twice today, right?”

Jeno is squished into a chair by the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, feet jammed under his own thighs. He smiles, fingers playing with his pen. The letter on the desk to his left is only half finished, but Jaemin saw that he already signed with a heart. “It’s the only power he has over us, but he’s too attached now.”

They all are, Jaemin guesses, but it’s not really a bad thing. Not yet.

His eyes swipe down to the letter again. Words strung together with care, writing much prettier than in any letter Jaemin himself has ever received from Jeno. “How is your boy doing these days?”

He saw the letters one of the maids gave Jeno, the letters he hides under his mattress, cheeks red.

Jeno smiles, his finger twitch around the pen. There is no need to hide his infatuation with Park Jisung from Jaemin, and Jeno should know that. Not that there is any way to hide it, either. He knows Jeno too well, he can read between the glint in his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the blush sitting high in his cheeks.

“He’s doing okay, I think. A little lonely now that I’m not around to hang out every day anymore.” Jeno turns his smile to the letter. “He writes me so many letters now, I didn’t even know he was this literate before.”

Jaemin rests against the headboard, tilts his head back until he hits the wall, smiles at the ceiling. What it must feel like to have the person that gets your heart beating like no one else return your affections.

They came here so Jaemin could piss off his brother by attempting to woo the prince of Jilin, so he could try his hand at being a royal. He bears this title, this backstory that hangs heavy over his head, and he’s never had any use for it. Now he is here, on a mission, and the prince is more intriguing than he bargained for.

“How is your mission going, then?” Jeno asks, as if he read his mind.

The image of Renjun’s hand in his, palm warm and soft, his smile under the setting sun, evening breeze in his hair, he gets Jaemin’s blood pumping, fills his cheeks with heat.

“I’m making progress, I think.”

“You think?” Jeno tilts his head to the right, hint of a wink when his eye twitches, lopsided smile. “I saw you guys walking back to the castle the other day. You seem very comfortable.”

“He’s much nicer than you’d expect.” Renjun laughs at his jokes, lips quick and witty, more than just eye candy. His eyes get big and round when Jaemin talks about Seoul, gloss over at the topic of his marriage, smile at the roses, smile when he tells stories about his brothers, about his life before.

“I’m just saying.” In the golden shine of the candle, Jeno looks soft and familiar. A hint of a memory from their childhood, closed bedroom door and hushed whispers under the blanket. Jeno has always been there. “Be careful. You never know who’s watching, or what his intentions are. I just want you to be sure.”

Jaemin has met princes, he’s met Yukhei and his siblings, their pretty powdered faces and tight smiles, the opaque curtains they draw around themselves every morning. He’s seen it on Renjun, too, the ice in his eyes in the throne room, every tendon in his body strained to keep his expression neutral. The fine cracks in his coldness, widening with every time he looks at Jaemin, and no one knows what’s beneath.

Sometimes things need to crash and burn for them to be free.

* * *

“Hello? Anyone over there?” The guard steps closer, almost silent against the stone floor but Jaemin can feel his presence moving around the corner. “Step out right now, or there will be punishment.”

Jaemin holds his breath, presses flat against the wall until he feels the blood shoot to his head. The kitchens are just down the hallway, he can see the light falling from the crack of the door. He’s so close.

And yet, he is about to meet the business end of this guard’s sword. Move a single inch and he’s done for.

“I’m gonna say it one more time, step out right now or I will—” A crash cuts off the guard’s voice, metal clatter against the floor and Jaemin hears the swing of the sword as the guard sprints down the corridor in the opposite direction. Away from the door to the kitchens.

He slips out of the shadows, careful to be quiet now, towards the light. Bright and golden, warmth of the candle light welcoming him on the other side of the heavy door.

A hand grabs him by the front of his shirt, momentum pulling at the back of his navel as he is yanked forward, further into the kitchen. His hip bumps against one of the counters and the same hands push him behind a wall, the back of his head colliding with the concrete, pain shooting down his spine.

It happens so quick he can’t even yell, can’t scream for help, and someone is breathing in his face.

“Sorry.” Jaemin opens his eyes to find Renjun’s, puddle of warmth, a hand reaching out for his head. “I didn’t mean to scare you, we just had to be quick before he comes back.”

“Was that you? The crashing?” It’s a pleasing image, Renjun throwing some pots to save him.

Renjun smiles, tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear. His breath is going a little faster than normal. “A friend owed me a favor.” He looks around, eyes flitting down the room. “Are you alone? Did you tell anyone where you were going? Even if it’s just your guard or Jeno, I need to—”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” Jaemin reaches out his hand, fingers coming around Renjun’s, still halfway in the air. They’re shaking. “Jeno and Donghyuck were asleep when I left. Calm down. What’s wrong?”

He knew something was off when a bunch of guards showed up in the gardens instead of Renjun, when a maid delivered a note to his room just after dinner, Renjun asking to meet him down here after midnight. But this is not a fight, or danger, none of what Jaemin expected. This is Renjun’s eyes shaking, lower lip quaking. Scared.

“We need to be more careful.” He sounds like Jeno, now. So much talk about being careful in just one night, but now Renjun is shaking in front of him and his words pierce right through Jaemin’s heart.

“Did something happen? Are you okay?”

In here, Renjun doesn’t look like the roses anymore. Moonlight falling in through the ceiling windows paints him pale, face gray and dull, a shadow of himself. They stepped out of the loop and he lost his footing.

Renjun is still beautiful in the shadows of the palace.

“My father had me called to his rooms, and he sent the guards for you. He knows that we’ve been meeting out there, he’s probably known all along.” He looks around again, anxious to every detail, the far shimmer of the candles, the polished tiles on the floor. “We need to be careful, or there’ll be consequences.”

The king has ways of knowing things that happen in his palace, Jaemin figures, they should have known that there was no way to sneak around him if they met under the open sun every night. Not even the flames of the sunset over their heads, the smell of dinner lulling the guests into safety, the thorns of roses scratching at their pants, would ever be enough to shield them from his Majesty’s watching eyes. Not when it comes to Renjun.

“What did he say? How did he know?”

“He had one of his guards spy on me.” Another smile, but it’s not Renjun’s. It’s the smile of a man who has been trapped for too long, in a cage for everyone to see. The smile of a man who has long given up. No rays of sun or roses blooming at his feet. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t let me roam around unwatched.”

“Because of what happened last time?” Jaemin knows, he’s heard the stories. The young prince of Jilin stolen by a jealous king, guest at the Jilin palace. Robbed from his family and rescued by his brothers.

Renjun’s fingers dance on the counter, like they do on the roses. His smile looks a little more like himself. “It was right after my mother died. He was there for the funeral, and he offered to take me away. I was only eleven, and my father was starting to get weird, so I said yes.” His eyes are a different kind of soft when they meet Jaemin’s. “To the rest of the world I was a poor kidnapping victim, but my father knows I went willingly.”

“So he doesn’t trust you around guests anymore. Because he thinks you’ll try to run away again.”

“Well, he’s not wrong about that.” A bitter chuckle tears from Renjun’s lips, too loud in the silence. They don’t care. “I’d do anything to get away from here right now. He knows me too well.”

Swine on the market, ready to be sold for some meagre coins. Jaemin would always gag at them when Mr. Lee took him to the market as a kid. His throat closes up at the thought of Renjun, touted in his small cage, powdered red and tasty, sold for a small price to a man with grimy hands.

 _He’s not a pig,_ he wants to scream, but who would listen? Who would hear him over the bids?

“So you can’t move around in your own home without being watched?” There is a guard at every corner in the palace, and no way of knowing who’s on their side. “That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.” He sighs, and there’s that smile again. Not his, and it looks so wrong on his face. So crooked and tilted, a distorted image of the boy Jaemin met weeks ago. “That’s just how it is for people like me.”

He doesn’t say us. It’s a punch to Jaemin’s gut, almost, presses the air out of his lungs at the thought of being caught. The thought of Renjun telling his lie, telling who he is and that he doesn’t deserve to be here. Would he lose him, would they lose this, if Renjun looks past the shiny badges on his chest?

“You don’t need to worry.” His little laugh rings to the ceiling, maybe past the door. Maybe they will be caught by the guards because of Renjun’s laugh and it would be worth it. This is the Renjun Jaemin knows. “My father told me who you are.” It knocks the stupid smile out of Jaemin’s face, but Renjun smiles instead. The twitch of his lips fills the bottomless well of Jaemin’s heart with warm gold. “I don’t care if you’re not a prince.”

A thousand stones lift off Jaemin’s chest, make him light enough to float to the heavens. “You don’t care?”

“Did you really think that I spent all this time around you without noticing that you’re a little strange for a prince?” He’s like replaced, worry washed away, monochrome switched for warmth when he smiles at Jaemin. So close Jaemin can feel the heat of his body. “I wouldn’t just leave just because you’re not a prince.”

“But I lied to you. I lied to your family and everyone else. I’m not who you thought I was.”

Renjun cocks his head to the side, bop of soft hair and a little smile. Just like Jeno would when Jaemin was being dumb. A fond thought. “But did you really? You lied about where you’re from, but I do believe you were always true to yourself when we talked. How else would I have been able to tell?”

It’s true, at least. For whatever it is worth, Jaemin has never pretended to be someone else past the lie about his upbringing when he was alone with Renjun.

“Besides, you didn’t lie about being the son of the king and queen of Seoul, did you? You technically are a prince, even if you’re not officially recognized as one.”

It’s Jaemin’s turn to smile, chuckle under his breath. The sound paints a grin on Renjun’s face, dimples and teeth. “If you know all that about my backstory, did he also tell you about how I’m supposed to be the downfall of the kingdom of Seoul, and that my parents wanted me executed as a newborn?”

Renjun laughs, a ring to Jaemin’s heart, echoing in his head. They’re being too loud, they’re going to be caught, and Jaemin will die and Renjun will be locked away, but all Jaemin has in mind is getting Renjun closer. Closer to himself, physically and in his mind, chest to chest. Renjun is so warm standing a step away, he would burn Jaemin alive if he was in his arms, and Jaemin thinks he would be okay with that.

“Oh, he sure did. Imagine carrying a baby for nine months only to order someone to kill it once it’s born.”

“But don’t you know?” Jaemin laughs. “I’m a threat to the kingdom! I, a tiny little baby, will murder my father and claim the throne and Seoul will fall under my reign, because some old dick wrapped in a curtain said so.”

“That’s very foul language, my prince.” But Renjun is suppressing so much laughter that his eyes swim with tears, his words bubbling with giggles. “I think you should get used to talking more appropriately, unless, of course, the way you’re gonna ruin Seoul is by making all the elderly ladies drop dead at your language.”

“Oh, yes, that comes right after being so sexy that I turn everyone crazy.”

They’re laughing, faces so close, crammed between kitchen counter and the wall, and Jaemin would only need to reach out. Lost in his own heart, he would always find his way back to Renjun’s voice.

He doesn’t know what happens. Renjun’s hand is on his arm, burns through his jacket, through his skin, it moves to his shoulder, swipe of fingers against his neck. Jaemin looks down at him, the open smile on his lips, curve of his eyes. He remembers what Renjun said in the gardens, about finding love, he remembers Jeno’s smile at the mention of Jisung’s name. All birds have to land somewhere, he thinks. He moves closer.

“I wish things didn’t have to be this way.” Those are Renjun’s words, but they are Jaemin’s thoughts.

He tries to imagine what it would be like, if Renjun wasn’t a prince and he wasn’t an illegal peasant child and they’d met on the market on a summer afternoon. Tries to imagine days by the riverside and Renjun’s smile under Seoul’s sun, tucked under the blankets in Jaemin’s bed, far away from royal trouble.

The Renjun in his imagination is beautiful, hair soft and falling past his ears, hands calloused from work in the fields, glowing cheeks in the sun, lit up when he smiles.

The Renjun in front of him paints a picture of himself, has his face powdered every morning, wears nice clothes and his hair trimmed. His eyes shake when he’s reminded of the walls of the palace, the tips of his fingers tremble against Jaemin’s neck at the mere implication of being separated. He smiles a smile that isn’t his.

“I wish I could set you free. I wish I could take you away from here.”

Renjun smiles, smiles a smile so warm it makes Jaemin hurt, and his fingers rest on Jaemin’s cheek. “The last one who tried hasn’t seen his kingdom in peace since the very day he left with me.”

There are few things Jaemin loves more than Seoul, his home and a haven for his memories. It’s where the Lees live with their farm and their animals, and Ten in his little cot in their attic, and Jeno’s Jisung. He and Jeno grew up by the river, played in the fields and bothered their neighbors. He can’t risk a war to happen on those planes of green grass, can’t risk the lives of his family—his real family, not the royals.

And yet.

Renjun doesn’t want a life like this, and he deserves the life he wants.

He says the one thing he dares to wish for, the one thing that doesn’t end with his home in ruins and his friends dead. “I wish I could be the one to marry you. So that you don’t have to marry one of those guys.”

Renjun’s fingers swipe down from his cheek, rest back on his shoulder. He still burns. “Is that the only reason?”

He takes Jaemin’s breath away, grabs it with his warm little hands and pulls it out of his lungs, pins him on the wall, helpless, for everyone to see. Jaemin doesn’t mind one bit, if he gets to put his hand over Renjun’s, gets to feel the warmth he emits as they stand way too close in the palace kitchens.

“No.” His voice is not more than a whisper. “That’s not the only reason.”

The world melts away around them when they kiss, Renjun’s lips pressing against Jaemin’s, soft and sweet. They make no sound but the dance of their mouths is loud enough to fill every room of the palace, in Jaemin’s head.

With Renjun’s arms coming around his neck to press in further, prodding, prying open Jaemin’s very existence, everything feels too hot, like they are setting the world on fire beneath their feet and don’t even have the mind to look. Lips to get lost it, get drunk on, and Jaemin can’t get enough. Renjun is a one hit addiction.

It’s almost too cold when Renjun moves away—Jaemin didn’t notice the cold of the night slipping in through the cracks of the windows until he’s no longer merged with Renjun.

They’re still standing so close, in each other’s space, and Jaemin can see the stars in Renjun’s eyes. Can smell the sheen of sweat on his cheeks and the perfume of his clothes, the kiss of a god.

Renjun holds Jaemin’s cheeks in his palms, fingers digging into skin, holds him close enough for Jaemin to see that the stars in his eyes look more like tears, that the lines of his face harden until he is pressing his lips together.

“If only things were different.” This time, it’s Jaemin who says it. “Maybe in a different universe we get married.”

A single tears escapes the cage of Renjun’s lashes, and they both pretend they don’t see it. Instead, Renjun kisses him again, just for a second, mouth to mouth. A moment of shared warmth.

“I’d burn Jilin to the ground if that would mean I could marry you.”

* * *

Under a ceiling of painted stars, Renjun has spilled all the secrets of his life.

He remembers painting them, on a big ladder with his mom when he was nine, the golden paint freckled on her cheeks and how he laughed at the jokes she made. Drops of paint on his sheets that would make him cry when he was twelve and she was gone, looking up at the stars and counting them till he finally fell asleep.

When Mark and his family came to Jilin that year and Renjun won a new best friend, his bedroom became a place for trust and secrets, whispers and hidden tears under the canopy of Renjun’s bed.

He’s staring up at the swarm of golden specks, lying in silence, when he says, “I kissed him last night.”

Mark looks up from the letter he’s writing by the candle on the desk, to his mother or to a relative he hasn’t seen in years. The light casts weird shadows on his face as he frowns at Renjun. Sighs.

“Didn’t your father tell you to stay away from him?” Mark sounds tired, a piece of music played too many times, worn down like the shirt you wear every day because nothing else keeps you as safe. Renjun has been scratching at the walls around Mark for years now. “I think you should do as your father says.”

“Of course you would say that.” Renjun slides an arm under his head. “Perfect, obedient little prince.”

“I’m not a prince. You are.” Mark’s ink brush scratches against the paper. “And if you have any desire to stay a prince and maybe become a king one day, I suggest you start being a little more obedient, too.”

Renjun isn’t listening. His eyes count the dots of the stars, thoughts running back to last night and Jaemin’s lips on his own. “Mhm.” The cold of the kitchen, clinging to the warmth of Jaemin’s body, the thrill of sneaking back to his room with his lips still tingling. “Do you think I could marry him in another life?”

Another sigh echoes through the room, followed by the click of Mark’s brush against the desk and steps on the carpet. Mark sits down on the mattress next to him. “Renjun.”

Renjun blows up his cheeks. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t be dreaming about stupid things, I should be doing what my father tells me. But Markie.” He pushes himself up on his elbows to look at Mark. “I’ll be married to whatever asshole my father picks so soon. Can I not dream of being happy even for a little while?”

“You only just met him, Jun. Who’s to say that he’ll make you happy for the rest of your life? I’m sure a stable marriage and a good relationship to your father will make you happier in the long run.”

“I didn’t _just_ meet him, it’s been weeks! I haven’t known any of the other guys longer than him, either.”

Mark pushes a hand through his hair. Dark shadows decorate the underside of his eyes, and Renjun doesn’t want to know how much he’s been sleeping lately. “I know, Jun. I’m sorry, I know this sucks. I wouldn’t want to take your place. But you should listen to your father. He only wants what’s best for you.”

“Wrong. He wants what’s best for the country, he doesn’t care how I feel about it.”

Silence falls between them, for just a moment, rises to the stars in the ceiling where so many of their secrets are stored. The ceiling must be so heavy with the combined weight of their hearts.

A moment passes until Mark speaks up again. “Does he really make you that happy?”

The image of Jaemin’s smile last night, the laugh in his throat and the sparkle of his eyes is enough to make Renjun smile, enough for warmth to rise to his cheeks. “He does.”

Jaemin last night was like cut from a dream, sneaking out to meet him, hushed whispers just behind the door from the guards. A beautiful boy in the shadows of the night, cold kitchen floor and warm bodies, stolen kiss. Someone who looks at him like he is more than a pretty picture. Someone who feels real, and good.

 _I wish I could take you away from here._ And Renjun thinks, _I wish you could._

Mark is silent for a little while longer, brows furrowed, fingers painting shapes on the sheets. “What’s he like?”

To think that Renjun’s two favorite men in the world have never met is almost outrageous, but he would rather Mark stay away from Jaemin than get him in trouble for being involved in Renjun’s affairs.

“He’s very blunt.” A laugh rips from Renjun’s mouth. “I could tell that he couldn’t be a prince from the way he talks alone. His accent is very nice, but he’s too honest to be one of us. Too kind. He’s very funny, and he laughs a lot. He has the best smile under the sun, I’ve never seen someone with so many teeth.” With the tips of his fingers, Renjun traces the part of his arm where Jaemin held him last night. “He’s naive, he doesn’t really know how cruel this life is.” Before his last words, Renjun swallows hard. “He looks at me like I’m a person.”

Mark frowns. “What do you mean?”

Another laugh, but it’s not a happy one. “All those men out there, and even the few women amongst them, they all know exactly what I am to them and what they want from me. I can tell by the looks in their eyes when they look at me. I’m nothing more than a prize to be won to them. They never look me in the eyes.”

Jaemin never looks at anything but his eyes when they’re alone.

“Is that why you like him?” Mark asks. “Because he’s the only one of them who treats you like a person?”

Renjun tilts his head to the side, thinks about it. Does he like Jaemin only because he yearns to be treated like he is more than a possession? Is he just longing to be wanted, and Jaemin happened to be there at the right moment? “No.” He shakes his head. “I like him because he’s nice. And funny. I like him because I just do. Him caring about me only contributes to me thinking that he’s a good person.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

Renjun looks up in surprise to find Mark smiling at him, hard lines vanished from his face. “What did you say?”

Mark laughs, now, a fine line between his brows. “I said I’m glad that you’re happy. I mean it, you deserve it. If I could change anything about your situation, if I could make it possible for you to be with that boy, I would. I care about you more than I care about your father, I hope you know that.”

If there was any way for him to be with Jaemin in this life, he would jump at the opportunity. Last time he tried to run, he was not in love or this deep in shit, but he wanted to be free, and he failed. His brothers are painted as the heroes of the story, the glorious soldiers who defended their family and brought their stolen little brother back home.

Maybe this time, he has more people on his side than he thought.

* * *

“His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Renjun of Jilin.”

Except this time, there are guards surrounding him, walking him into the hall, guards lining the walls, some positioned at his father’s sides. They all wear their swords unconcealed.

This time, his hands are shaking at his sides.

“My son.” His father sits up in his throne, smiles down at him. He doesn’t gesture for Renjun to take a seat on his own throne, doesn’t invite him up, forces him to stay at the bottom of the steps. Surrounded by guards. Renjun has a feeling that this will not be a very pleasant conversation.

“Father.” He bows his head.

“I’m so glad to see you.” The king’s smile looks more like a slash across his old face, eyes of a predator, ready to pounce. In front of his father, Renjun has never been more than a deer, about to get caught between fangs. Thin legs shaking as they try to support him. “I haven’t heard from you in a while, which must mean that you’ve been following my orders. I’m so glad, I knew you would come to your senses eventually.”

Maybe he’s been obeying his orders, or maybe he just learned to be sneakier in getting around the guard stationed outside his room. Maybe they just found hidden places to meet in. “Yes, father,” is what he says.

“Very well, then.” The predator moves around its prey, circles it with a pleasant voice and movements that lull it in false safety. A friendly smile, brush of knuckles down its cheek, _you’re safe here,_ but the poor deer is still shaking. Looks for ways to escape. “I suppose you know why I called you here.”

There’s no way to run. The guards stand up straight, the hunter brought backup. “I must admit that I do not.”

The king smiles, a baring of teeth. Meant to be nice, to lull him in, wrap him up nice and tight until he can’t run. “Why, of course, your brothers and I have finally decided on a husband for you.”

This is the pounce, the hit they’ve both been anticipating. It knocks the breath out of Renjun’s lungs, chest torn open by the teeth of the carnivore in front of him. His heart is exposed for everyone to see when his face slips from his control, beaten and bruised. His chest burns, filled with acid, poison dripping from the animal’s snout.

Weeks of preparation, of staring into the faces of men who couldn't care less about him, he knew it was coming. He will marry, Jaemin will go home. They will never meet again. Mark was right, he was foolish to dream.

“You will marry Prince Yoonoh of Busan, and our troops will assist his in reclaiming his rightful place on the throne.” The king is no longer smiling, but his stare lasts heavy on Renjun’s shoulders. Dark eyes that have not seen light in years. “Once we are successful, you will reign over Busan at his side.”

Of course. Yoonoh is a crown prince, one whose title isn’t as fickle as his own. Renjun is not worth enough to insist on his place in his own kingdom. All he’s good for is being married off, in his father’s eyes.

“You are marrying me into an already existing war. Do you want me to die?”

“Mmh.” The king waves his hand through the air. “Don’t be so pessimistic, Renjun. You will of course not be fighting the battles, you are just an assurance of our troops’ loyalty and good relationships between Jilin and Busan in the future.” _You are a political hostage,_ is what Renjun hears. _A sacrifice we are more than willing to make._

He remembers Yoonoh from the meetings, tall and handsome. A sneer breaking the perfect facade when he looked at Jaemin that first day in the throne room. The one Jaemin made fun of.

Of course it would be someone like Yoonoh. Someone perfect, the complete opposite of Jaemin.

“Now, there is only one more thing we need to make sure of, isn’t there?” The king smiles, slit in his face, licking his lips, slick with blood, before delivering a final blow to his caught prey. “Guards!”

The two men on Renjun’s sides grab his arms, a third steps close to his back. The metallic sound of a sword being drawn. When he tries to squirm away, their hands only tighten. Cold tip of a sword to the back of his neck.

“Father?” Renjun looks up at the king, eyes blown wide, heart pressing down on his lungs.

“I’m very sorry, my son.” He doesn’t sound like he is, and he gestures for the guards to remove him from the room. “We just cannot risk that you get any ideas of running away with your loverboy. The wedding will take place in a few weeks’ time, until then, you will be confined to your rooms. Guards, take him up there.”

Before the doors fall shut in front of him, Renjun hears his father order another group of guards to remove his throne from the room before the end of the week.

Easy to replace, to eradicate. Never missed.

* * *

A bowl of soup on the desk, a jug of water, right next to the letter Mark never finished. He hasn’t come up here since the day Renjun told him that he kissed Jaemin, and his rooms are so lonely on his own. It hurts.

The window is closed, but the maid that visits him every morning and night threw the curtains open. He has no energy to close them left, even though the sunlight burns in his eyes and the sight of birds in the sky makes him want to throw up. He wishes he could be that free, soaring so high through the air, no one able to touch him.

It’s been a week since his father had him locked up in here, and Renjun sees no one but the maid that brings him food and the guard that comes in a few times a day to make sure he hasn’t jumped out the window.

Down in the courtyard, he watches more carriages leave every day. Low rank nobles that will not stay for the wedding, or higher rank royals from nearby kingdoms that have the luxury of going home in the meantime.

He tells himself that he isn’t looking for Jaemin, that he isn’t praying he’s still here, somewhere, and that he will come to see him at least one last time. His heart still aches when he sees the big white carriage with the Seoul emblem on the side roll out of the gates on the fourth day. He resists slapping himself in the face.

He’s counted the stars on the ceiling so many times they are haunting his restless dreams, the floor is covered in clothes and half finished canvases, carpet speckled with flecks of paint. Even art bores him now.

The garden isn’t visible from his windows, and he yearns to hold or just look at one of the flowers. Maybe he understands why his father likes to fill his rooms with them, now. It must be hard to never be able to go outside and see how beautiful they are in the whole picture of nature.

He misses the flowers, he misses the sun and the smell of grass. He misses Jaemin.

It will get easier with time. He can plant a rose garden in Busan, and the battles will take his mind off missing Jaemin until his heart doesn’t ache remembering his smile.

Maybe one day he can look back at their shared past with a smile, or maybe he will forget. Yoonoh is a good man, an honorable man. He will treat Renjun well, and they will grow old together. Jaemin will fade in his memory, a forgotten fling. It will hurt for a while, forgetting him will hurt, but he will be alright.

There a books piled up on his nightstand, one more boring than the next. About political relationships between kingdoms, about diplomacy. None of them are about the stars, or flowers, or beautiful boys with beautiful smiles.

Renjun stays in his bed. The sheets are rumpled and crinkled, he hasn’t allowed the maids to make them in days. They smell like him, they stink of the pressing smell of sadness that hangs over the entire room.

He’s dozing off, eyes half closed with the sun still shining into his face and a tune replaying in his head to distract himself from his thoughts, when something crashes against the wall outside his door.

His eyes fly open and he climbs out of bed, grabbing a robe off the floor to cover his sleeping garments, but the door to the corridor remains locked. No more sounds from out there, except for the steps of what is most likely a servant hurrying past. He can’t tell why his heart is beating so hard, like it senses something.

Halfway back through the lounge room, halfway to his bedroom door, a key turns in the lock and Renjun whips around. His heart picks up the speed again.

“Hey.” Soft planes of face, round cheeks, a smile Renjun knows all too well.

It takes Renjun everything he has in himself not to sob as he catapults himself forward. Arms wind around Jaemin’s shoulders, face to his neck, close enough to smell all the scents he has missed so much. A smell of Jaemin and the flowers they met between. He must have been visiting the garden without him.

“You’re here.” Renjun pulls back just far enough to look at Jaemin’s face. Fingers curl into his arms. “How?”

Jaemin smiles at him, eyes so full of warmth it spills over the edges, right into Renjun’s heart. He hasn’t felt his warm in so long. “A little birdy told me that you’re locked in your room, and gave me some pointers on how to get around the guard outside the door. Turns out your cousin is of the aggressive kind.”

“Mark?” A small laugh breaks past his lips, because he hasn’t seen Mark in weeks, and now he helped Jaemin find him. “Mark told you where I am? And he told you to knock out the guard?”

Jaemin laughs back at him, puff of breath against Renjun’s lips. They’re standing close enough for Renjun to hear Jaemin’s heartbeat against his own chest, can feel the movement of his ribcage as he breathes in his space. “I was surprised, too, I didn’t think he liked me. I guess he loves you enough to cooperate with me.”

Mark has been Renjun’s best friend since he was twelve, saw him during the most vulnerable time of his life. He knows everything there is to know about Renjun. He knows how to make him happy.

“What did he say to you? I haven’t seen him in so long, did he say anything?”

“He just told me that your father had you locked up here to prevent you from running away, and,” Jaemin’s adam’s apple bobs visibly as he takes a moment to swallow. Tucks a piece of Renjun’s hair behind his ear. “And he said that he wanted to help me because I make you happy, and he hates seeing you sad.”

“He said that, hmm?” A grin pulls at the edges of Renjun’s mouth.

Redness shoots into Jaemin’s cheeks and he laughs in protest. “He really did! I would never lie to you.”

“Ah yeah?” Renjun chuckles, bumps his nose against Jaemin’s cheek. “Remember when you lied to me and my family about being a prince for, what, almost a month?”

“Hey.” Jaemin pouts, and it only makes Renjun laugh more. “That was a white lie, at the end.”

Renjun kisses him instead of replying, and Jaemin melts against him. He didn’t realize how much he truly missed Jaemin, skin soft and warm, a joke on his lips that make Renjun laugh more than he has in a week, hands firm on Renjun’s hips, like he’s scared that he’ll be ripped away again. Like Renjun is too precious to lose.

Kisses like oxygen and Renjun is a man suffocating.

* * *

A few more kisses, and the sunlight finds them sitting on Renjun’s bed.

“I missed you.” Jaemin isn’t looking at him now, he’s looking at his own fingers as they trace patterns on the inside of Renjun’s lower arm, delicate. “I didn’t know if I’d ever get to see you again.”

His father and brothers announced the news to the guests two days after Renjun learned of them, one of the maids told him when she came to bring his dinner. She congratulated him, and bowed deeply, like she would only to a married man. The sting of tears behind his eyes was tempting that day.

“I thought you’d already left.” Renjun tilts his head to the side. “I saw your carriage outside.”

“They were urging us to leave, so I sent Jeno and Donghyuck ahead to find a place to stay in town.” Jaemin smiles. His fingers trace a heart into the crevice of Renjun’s elbow. “I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

He raises Renjun’s hand to his face and presses a kiss to his wrist. Flutter of his pulse against lips. In the sunlight, Jaemin’s eyes look like fluid gold, and Renjun is glad he didn’t close to curtains.

“I don’t want to marry him.” His voice is almost breathless. “I really don’t. I would rather die.”

“Please don’t die.” Jaemin drops his hand, brushes a thumb over Renjun’s cheekbone instead. “I’m sure he isn’t that bad. You’ll have a nice and safe marriage, your father will be happy—” But there’s a hitch in Jaemin’s voice, like he’s swallowing his tears. Like he doesn’t cry for Renjun’s sake.

“I want to marry you.”

That’s what does it, five simple words, a single tear in the corner of Jaemin’s eye. “No, you don’t.” He laughs, touches a kiss to the tip of Renjun’s nose. “You don’t want to marry anyone.”

No one has ever been able to read him like this. “I’d rather it be you than Prince Yoonoh.”

Jaemin smiles, dimples in soft cheeks, and lets the silence fall between them. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say, maybe they both don’t. Maybe the silence is comforting, Jaemin’s lips against Renjun’s face, kisses falling over him like summer rain. They don’t need words when Jaemin’s eyes glow brighter than the stars on the ceiling.

When their heads hit the pillows with their lips still sealed and Renjun has never felt this warm.

“We should run away.” It’s Jaemin who speaks, trailing his fingers down Renjun’s arm. Sparks under his skin, just enough space between their faces to speak.

“Mmh.” Renjun has a hand against Jaemin’s cheek, skin burning through his with fire and ice. Every minute he’s spent not looking at Jaemin was a minute wasted. “I told you what happened to the last one who tried.”

“We have Mark on our side this time.” Fingers threading together in the warmth between their chests.

Renjun plants a kiss on Jaemin’s lips, trails up his cheek. Kisses next to his eye and hums into the skin until Jaemin tries to squirm away and they both laugh. Kiss again so quick that their teeth clack. They don’t care.

“I don’t think you want to risk Seoul’s peace and safety for the hand of someone else’s betrothed.”

Jaemin untangles their hands to push Renjun’s hair out of his face, slides his hand down to fit against his jaw. A little lower and he could feel Renjun’s pulse drumming against his neck. “You don’t belong to him. You never will.” Furrowed brow and pouty mouth, he almost looks mad. “I hate the pure implication that you’re something to own.”

His words break the shadow of the wall around Renjun’s heart, shining light on his burning heart. Smoke he has been hiding for weeks and months. He conceals the tears in his eyes by kissing Jaemin again.

“You said you’d set Jilin on fire for me, and I’m telling you that I would see Seoul in ruins for you.”

The sunlight paints streaks on Jaemin’s face, colors pink cheeks golden, a halo around black hair. The tan of his cheeks, pink-tipped ears and a shimmer on his nose, he looks like the painting of a god. How could the people of Seoul not see that he is their prince? That he is an angel come human?

Renjun did not expect to lie in the arms of someone so beautiful, inside and out, to bask in the golden light of Jaemin’s presence. To paint a smile on that face with every word he says.

But he is here, and Jaemin is here. And they are kissing, a little scandalous with the red of Jaemin’s lips against his own, like a fresh cherry, or a rose from the garden. A little forbidden, spike in Renjun’s heartbeat when Jaemin’s hand slides down to his hip. Their time is limited, an unconscious guard will only go unnoticed for so long, but Renjun could spend days looking at Jaemin, planting kisses on his rose petal mouth.

“Tell me about Seoul,” Renjun whispers into the skin of Jaemin’s neck.

“It’s beautiful.” He laughs into Renjun’s hair, pinches his back. “Jilin doesn’t even hold a candle to it. I live by the riverside, on a little farm with Jeno’s family and Ten, the man who raised me. In the summer you can see the sunlight on the water, and it looks like the world is burning. The river is my favorite place.”

Renjun can only imagine what Jaemin’s life at home must be like. Jilin is beautiful, everyone says so, but Renjun has only ever seen the expanse of the mountains, the little fishing towns in passing, from the window of a carriage.

What it must be like, to be a farmer’s boy and roam free in your country, take a walk by the river and watch the sunset on the water, free, not a care in the world on your mind. To pick wild berries on your way home, to walk barefoot in the soil and to laugh out loud with your best friend, and no one who sees you would care.

“Jeno’s father travels a lot, and he brings home flowers for his wife,” Jaemin continues. His hand has picked up tracing patterns into Renjun’s skin again. “The house is always full of color, and it smells like the food we grow in the backyard. We all help in the fields, and we sit around the table together at night while Ten cooks for all of us. I miss his cooking the most, I think. Oh, and on the weekends, Jeno and I chase each other up the hill and visit the market for everything we can’t grow ourselves. It’s a little far, but the sunlight is always so nice up there.”

Jaemin’s eyes are closed, lost in the memory of his home and Renjun trails a finger over the curve of his cheek.

“I’d love to see it one day.” Renjun smiles even if Jaemin can’t see, smiles because he would love to see the water and the fields and the flowers of Seoul. Because he may be able to go there one day, Busan is not as far from Seoul as Jilin is, but he would never see the country from Jaemin’s eyes. Would never meet the people he loves.

On an official visit as a royal, Renjun would get to see the castle of Seoul, stroll through flower gardens and sit by the riverside if he was lucky. He would never chase somebody up a hill, laughter on their lips, would never visit the market or feel the heat of the sun burn beads of sweat onto his skin as he works in the fields. He’d never see Seoul the way Jaemin sees it, painted with the colors of his loved ones.

Jaemin slides a hand up to rest on Renjun’s, still against his face, palm warm and big. He has eyes that are heavier than the lock on Renjun’s heart, on his door, swing of lid to lead you into disaster. “Run away with me.”

Deep in Renjun’s chest, his heart aches to say yes. They could run right now, the guard still knocked out, they could grab some clothes and get in a carriage before the sun goes down. Maybe they would be able to catch a boat to Seoul before tomorrow. Renjun could be free, he could escape his father and Prince Yoonoh tonight.

But war would be waged. His father and his brothers would not stop until he returns, until they have gotten their revenge. They would arrive in Seoul to see it in ruins.

“I know you’re worried.” Jaemin’s fingers wrap around his, take his hand away from his face. He’s lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “But we could do it. We have people on our side, Mark and some of the guards. We have Donghyuck to help us get into Seoul unnoticed. We could be free.”

Renjun shakes his head. “They would destroy Seoul. My father wouldn’t stop until there’s nothing left of it.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” Jaemin smiles, but his eyes last heavy on Renjun’s shoulders. He’s offering up the safety of his home and his people for Renjun’s freedom. “The thought of you being trapped in a marriage like that pains me more than the fall of a city. Seoul can be rebuilt. You will be trapped for the rest of your life if I let you go.”

“You’re willing to risk it all for someone you’ve only met a few weeks ago. What if I’m just using you?”

“I don’t think you’re that good of an actor.” A laugh in Jaemin’s chest, and he tilts his head forward a little, nose to nose with Renjun. “But if you are, I wouldn’t mind. Even if you don’t stay with me, I want you to be free.”

“Why?” Renjun frowns. “Who could be so selfless?”

“I’m not claiming to be selfless. I don’t think the people of Seoul would call me selfless for risking their safety for you. I’m not selfless.” He leads Renjun’s hand up to his face, presses a kiss between his knuckles. “I am so selfish.”

The heat that overcomes Renjun’s body is almost unbearable, red and golden flames singing him from head to toe. He shoves Jaemin’s hand away from in between them, slides back up against his chest. Kisses like sweet release, lips like freshwater poured on the fire. He kisses so Jaemin doesn’t see the tears.

Jaemin sees them anyway, pad of his thumb swiping under Renjun’s eyes. He doesn’t say anything. “What do you say, my prince?” he asks instead. Smile more delicate than their hearts. “Do you want to run away with me?”

The flames will not stop burning, will not stop consuming him. Maybe it’s the shame of what he wants, or maybe being separated from Jaemin is more than just a little sadness. Maybe it will never stop hurting, not until he’s six feet under and the flames can’t reach him anymore.

What’s a little death in exchange for what could be the love of his life?

“I would love to.”

* * *

“The doors are locked, sir. I checked them all myself.”

 _They are locked,_ Renjun thinks as he turns the key. _But who’s to say what’s behind?_

He draws up his hood, part of the outfit that the maid who brought him dinner wordlessly set down on the end of his bed, and hurries around the corner before the guard returns to his position.

In all the years Renjun has lived in the Jilin Palace, he has never felt this much a stranger in these halls. None of the guards he passes on his way down the stairs nod at him, not when their own uniform rubs against his skin. He walks with his shoulders squared and his head lowered, sword at his hip, and none of them bother him.

The moonlight falls pale onto the servant stairs taking him into the cellar, obscures his face in sharp shadows.

Down in the kitchens, a servant girl is sewing close a hole in a lady’s dress, while some servant boys polish the shoes of the lords around a table. Everything is in motion even close to midnight, cooks finishing up the food, servants preparing the decorations to be strung up in the morning. One of the cooks is pasting buttercream on the cake Renjun is supposed to cut tomorrow. He almost feels bad as he slips past them.

It’s the night before the wedding. Renjun hasn’t met Yoonoh again, though the maid told him that he could, if he wanted to. He didn’t want to.

Jaemin was right, they do have some of the servants and guards on their side, like the maid who brought him the clothes, or the guard who nods at him when he slips into the corridor behind the kitchen.

It’s always cold down here, no glass in the windows under the ceiling, no fire to keep him warm. Not much light to guide him down his way, hand against the wall to not lose track.

A different servant took the bag he packed down here yesterday, stashed it behind one of the boxes in the storage room. He just needs to find it, track down Jaemin and their stuff in one of the other rooms and they should be ready to go, they shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes down here—

“Renjun.” Way too deep to be Jaemin’s voice.

Renjun freezes, hand against the wall, halfway down the corridor. He’s so close.

The steps come closer, and Renjun turns around to see Sicheng approaching him. Silver vest and swoop of black hair, still perfect in the middle of the night.

“Renjun.” Twitch of his lips, but his eyes are almost sad. “I don’t think you’re supposed to leave your room.”

Sicheng, the perfect son, their father’s favorite. Always calm, quiet, proper, with a nice face and good manners and properly tucked clothes. Never causes trouble. Of course it would be him who would catch Renjun down here, who’d drag him back to his room with a disappointed smile. Maybe he won’t tell their father, if he’s lucky.

He backs away slowly, if he’s fast he could run, wait for Jaemin outside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sicheng smiles this time, steps a little closer. “You don’t need to be scared.” He smiles at him like he did when they were little, when he let Renjun and Chenle play in the gardens even though they weren’t allowed to. When he gave the guard a few coins to not tell their father. _This is our secret,_ he’d say, and they would nod, hair bopping. “I’m not dragging you back. I’m here to say goodbye.”

Renjun blinks at him. “What?”

“Mark told me about your plans, I’ve known for weeks. Who do you think got you the uniform and paid the guards to keep their mouths shut? Kun and Chenle are in on it too.” Sicheng steps up to him now, warm hand on Renjun’s shoulder. “We know you’re not happy. We want you to have a chance.”

Renjun’s breath comes out in puffs in the cold air, a punch to his chest. “But father wants me to—”

“I know what our father wants.” Sicheng’s eyes crescent, and Renjun never realized how much he missed being brothers. They haven’t been since he tried to run the first time. “That’s not what you want, though.”

Of course it’s not, but Renjun never thought he would hear those words from Sicheng’s mouth. Never thought he would see that smile directed at him again. Our secret.

“We’re gonna be on different sides of a war, if you let me go now.”

Sicheng looks almost sad, but he keeps his smile up. His eyes never water. “You know I’ll do whatever father wants me to, at least where he can see. But as your brother, I promise you that I will never lay a hand on you or anyone you love.” He squeezes Renjun’s shoulder. “We just want you to be happier.”

Pain blooms in the base of Renjun’s chest. He knew what he was doing when he decided to run away, he’s spent the last two weeks thinking about how he would feel if he saw his brothers again on the battlefield.

He knew, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Faced with Sicheng, the very person who carried him back home the last time he tried to escape, who was so disappointed that he would leave his family. Now he’s helping him get out, now he wants him to be happy. Renjun has never felt more selfish.

“I’m so sorry.” His eyes sting. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

“Don’t be.” Sicheng has never liked hugs, but he doesn’t flinch when Renjun wraps his arms around him. “I wish things were different, too. If I could halt the wedding to keep you here, I would.”

“I’m going to miss you all so much. I wish I’d spend more time with you, especially after mother’s death.”

Sicheng pats his back and Renjun can hear his smile when he says, “I’m sorry, too. I know it was mostly my fault that we became distant.” He steps back, squeezes Renjun’s arms. Renjun can’t remember ever seeing his face this soft. “I wish I’d been a better brother. I hope we’ll meet again one day, in peace.”

The tears are threatening to spill past Renjun’s lashes when Sicheng presses something into his palm, warm and compact. Velvety, a small box barely big enough to fit into his hand.

“A farewell gift. I stole it from father’s room years ago. She used to wear it every day.”

Renjun unwraps the box ro reveal a golden badge, polished and shiny, with the intricate design of a rose in its middle. The symbol of the queen of Jilin, seen in every portrait of her. A distant memory of greasy baby fingers playing with the metal, his mother’s laugh in his ear as she rocked him in her lap.

A tear slips down Renjun’s cheek. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

This badge must mean so much to Sicheng, he stole it and kept it for so many years, keeping it polished. The memory of their mother, maybe the only they have left after their father’s purge of all that reminded him of her. Now Renjun is about to leave, maybe they will never see each other again, and Sicheng is passing it on to him. Even on opposite sides of the battlefield, they are still family.

Sicheng squeezes his arm one last time. Renjun stays standing in the corridor for a while after he leaves.

* * *

He finds his bag behind the first door of the hall, and Jaemin behind the last.

“There you are.” Jaemin jumps up, pulls Renjun into his arms. “Took you long enough. Let’s go.”

They have no time to waste, they’ve already been down here for way longer than they planned, secure their bags over their shoulders and make a run for the stairs that lead to the backdoors.

An unmarked carriage waits for them outside, with seats that dig into the backs of their thighs and barely enough room to fit the two of them and their bags, but it’ll have to do. They should reach the shore before the sun goes up.

Renjun watches as Jaemin hands the driver a sack of coins before they climb inside and draw the curtains shut.

Somewhere by the gate that would lead them into freedom—first the streets leading away from the palace over the backhill but eventually, freedom—Renjun hears some men yelling and smiles to himself. It’s Mark, stirring up some trouble nearby to lead the guards away from the gates. They pass by unnoticed.

After that, they are free. The night is pitch black outside, but Renjun pulls the curtains back to watch the light of the castle retreat into the distance, until they round a corner and it disappears from his sight.

The last time he left the palace without his family, things didn’t end so well. He’s not alone this time, though, and Jaemin smiles when he links their fingers together. This time, he has Jaemin and his warm hands and the kiss he places on the side of Renjun’s head. Someone who cares about what will happen to him.

They will be alright. And when Renjun throws the curtains open to stretch his arms out into the night air as they race through the mountains, just to feel the breeze of freedom, Jaemin only laughs.

“Try to get some sleep.” Jaemin brushes a hand down Renjun’s arm when he settles against Jaemin’s chest. Presses a kiss to the top of his head with his words. “I’ll wake you when we reach the harbor.”

There’s too much adrenaline pumping through Renjun’s veins to feel tired despite his lack of sleep for the night, but Jaemin is warm and steady under him, a hum in his chest when Renjun slides closer. A solid arm around Renjun’s back and he can barely avoid his eyes slipping shut.

“Thank you,” he murmurs as the darkness threatens to spill over him. “For everything.”

He almost doesn’t feel Jaemin tucking his hair behind his ear, soft fingers against his cheek. “Sleep, dear.”

With Jaemin by his side, Renjun firmly believes he will be alright. They will be, hand in hand against the world and everyone who wants to see them separated. As long as he has Jaemin to lean on, he will be okay.

He’s never been this sure about something.

* * *

“Welcome aboard our old lady.” Jaemin grins and stretches a hand out to help Renjun onto the ship.

The pallid rays of the sun haven’t yet reached all the way over the sea, they drape Renjun in shades of grey, wash out the gold of his skin. His fringe is already rough from the salty air, but Jaemin thinks he’s never looked more breathtaking. Freedom paints stars into his eyes, the brightest light on the sea.

Old sailors are dragging themselves across the landing, early morning heavy on their lids, and they don’t even look their way. Nothing special about two young men on an old boat in the morning here.

A hood still obscures Renjun’s face, and the lady who’s been staring at them looks away eventually.

The sea still lies between them and their freedom, a beast of waves that roar in your ears, of rocks sharp enough to pierce the walls of their ship if not maneuvred well. It will be a journey full of fear, but for the moment, Renjun trails his hand along the railing, stares off into the horizon. Where the sea meets the sky. Jaemin’s hands itch to pull him in and kiss his smile. He doesn’t.

“Have you fellas settled in already?” The captain stands outside his cabin, yellow smile and wooden leg and all. “We should set off soon, before the palace people notice the young prince’s missing.” He nods at Renjun with a lack of grace only someone from the Seoul countryside could muster. “Nice to meet ya, Highness.”

Renjun’s smile crinkles the corners of his eyes, and he bows his head. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Oh, so proper. You could learn a thing or two from this guy, Na.” He grins and slaps the side of the cabin, click of his rings against the wood. “Now get your stuff downstairs, boys, I’ll get us out of here.”

The morning maid being in on their plan—under the command of the other princes and with her pockets a lot heavier when she goes home tonight—will buy them at least a few hours past sunrise. Until either the guard goes to check on Renjun himself or they send someone to get him ready for the wedding.

The wedding. Which would’ve been today, if they hadn’t gotten Renjun out of there in time.

Jaemin watches Renjun drag his bag into the cabin they share, hood thrown off, hair sticking in every direction. A boy who craves freedom more than anything. No matter his own feelings for Renjun, Jaemin knows it would’ve torn his heart apart if he would’ve had to see him get locked into the arms of a man he doesn’t love.

“What are you staring at?” Renjun laughs when he looks up from where he dumped his bag. “Am I that pretty?”

The ship jerks under their feet as they finally set off from the haven, and Jaemin is already there when Renjun stumbles back, hands on his arms. He smacks a kiss against his head. “You are.”

It will be a long way from Jilin to Seoul, a long time to be trapped on a boat with a perpetually grumpy guard, your best friend and the runaway prince you love. Red shoots into Renjun’s cheeks the first time he meets Jeno, on the deck, both of them touched by the morning sun and Jaemin’s heart has never been warmer.

“Nothing to be scared of.” Renjun’s hand looks so small between Jeno’s palms, and Jeno’s eyes disappear into his cheeks when he smiles at him. “Not when it comes to me. I love everything Jaemin loves.”

They both burn red at that, and Jeno excuses himself with a laugh.

Donghyuck is a harder nut to crack, almost expressionless where he stands against the rail, but he’s a lot gentler with Renjun than he ever was with Jaemin. Treats him like they’re old friends, and when Donghyuck says something under his breath, the apples of Renjun’s cheeks glow a bright gold, right above his smile.

They keep talking when they sit down to eat, a rare smile on Donghyuck’s face. Renjun must be exhausted, he only got a few hours of restless sleep as they raced down to the shore, but he keeps Donghyuck entertained.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile this much.” Jeno leans across the table as to not interrupt them, and Jaemin couldn’t agree more. Nothing could be more fascinating.

He does believe that Renjun has this effect on people, he’s seen it happen in the palace before. Something in between the mix of his proper coyness, gentle and calm like a prince needs to be, and the untamed glint in his eyes, a hand reached out for a stranger in a flower garden to take, brings the best out of people.

Not once in the weeks they met was Renjun ever afraid, and Jaemin would be ashamed to claim he was the braver out of the two of them. Renjun held his hand under the open sun, kissed him around the corner from a guard. He was well aware of the consequences, yet he was never a coward. He got in the carriage and fled because he couldn’t live restrained. It’s all his own doing, an act for himself only.

Everything Renjun does, he does with passion, with a smile on his face and meaning in his eyes, and that’s why he’s so healing to be around. He bleeds for the people he loves, and that includes himself.

Maybe Jaemin is wrong for wanting to keep him all to himself, but if Renjun wanted to be free from him, he’s sure he would find a way to be on a different ship right now. If he felt trapped by Jaemin, he wouldn’t thread their fingers together under the table, would not lie down next to him at night, would not lean his head on Jaemin’s shoulder while they stand at the rail and stare at the sea ahead of them. Into the horizon, into their future.

He wouldn’t kiss Jaemin under the night sky, real stars twinkling over their heads and fresh sea breeze on their skin, and tell him that he loves him for the first time.

* * *

A week at sea has taught Renjun more than years at the palace. He’s learned to dress for the weather, at least twenty different ways to tie a rope, how to work the rigging and hoist the sails.

He’s learned what freedom tastes like dangling his feet off the mast he climbed, wind in his hair. How to get behind Donghyuck’s walls, how to make Jeno laugh hard enough for his eyes to disappear, and what it feels like to fall asleep next to the warm body of the person you love. To wake up to Jaemin’s smile.

Not everything is easy, but they make it work.

Renjun knows that Jaemin is terrified of what is to come for them, of the war that will rain down on his country, of losing Renjun again now that he finally has him. Knows that he’s been making plans for where they will go, how they can hide once they arrive in Seoul. Messy writing in messy notebooks and, right next to his words, the ink of Renjun’s neat hand, suggesting places, telling him things he’d like to see.

Renjun sits next to Jaemin when he broods, smiles into the skin of his shoulder. He knows he’s being delusional, but it makes Jaemin smile, and there is no room to worry in his head when it’s all filled with love.

Love for Jaemin, and for the life he has now. A life where no one yells at him when he climbs the mast, tears his pants for the third time that week, pricks himself on the needle when he sews them back together on his bed. Where he can ask Jaemin to kiss the little wound without shame.

Seoul will not be this easy, freedom will not always be this easy. They’re running from a war, one they can’t fight in because the risk of being captured is too high. Once they’re on land, they will have to hide and hope for the best.

Maybe they will be on the run for the rest of their lives, but Renjun would run to the end of the world for Jaemin.

The blanket pools around his hips when he sits up, cool breeze against his bare shoulders. The air tastes like salt out here, but he’s gotten used to it. He’s gotten used to a lot of things he never imagined before.

It’s still the middle of the night, pale moonlight not enough to reach them down here, the only light he has is the candle burning down on the nightstand. It casts shadows on Jaemin’s face, sharp and flickering, a golden shine on the swell of his cheek. Messy hair splayed over his eyes, even rise and fall of his chest.

Jaemin lies, beautiful and deep asleep, skin warm and love bitten from the hours they spent between the sheets, heat rises in Renjun’s face at the thought. He doesn’t rouse when Renjun kisses his cheek and leaves their bed.

The ship is quiet at night, only some of the crew milling around to keep track of where they’re going, and they don’t mind him wandering around. Like this, he can lean far over the rail and listen to the murmur of the waves beneath, the gentle sea wind crawling under the thin robe he picked off the floor.

Things don’t feel as heavy when he’s out here on his own. Jaemin is warm and solid and comforting, but like this, it’s just Renjun and the ocean he has always craved to know so much. Now that he is finally here, the thought of ever leaving the sea behind again is almost crushing.

Maybe he can convince Jaemin to buy a boat, maybe they can escape forever by never stepping foot on land again, live under the open sky and look at the stars every night before they fall asleep.

Out here, things are lighter than on land. Out here, he’s free.

They would be safe if they never had to leave this ship, no one would be able to find them on the endless sea. They could sail to the ends of the world, could explore faraway waters and meet people who wouldn’t know who they are. Two nameless boys in the middle of the ocean, no obligations, no responsibilities.

Like a star in the sky, right next to all the others, and yet so far.

“Are you okay?”

Perhaps he did wake Jaemin after all, or maybe he woke up on his own to find the bed empty. The moonlight paints shadows into the worry lines on his face.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Two hands, outstretched, palms turned up and Jaemin’s hands are so warm against his in the night air. He’s smothering heat, the fire Renjun has plunged himself into, flames licking and pulling at his skin, burning him until all that is left is his heart, open and red. He couldn’t escape if he wanted to.

Jaemin is also the soft ocean breeze, snuggling around Renjun’s shoulders, the front of his chest, arms against his sides, breath in his hair. They stand at the rail, bodies molded into one, and Renjun watches the ocean over Jaemin’s shoulder.

“I just needed some fresh air.” An explanation Jaemin didn’t ask for. A hand caressing down his back.

They will be at sea for at least one more week, one more week of eating with Jeno and talking to Donghyuck for hours on end, one more week of staring up at the stars and falling asleep next to Jaemin without fear. In Seoul, the dream will be over. There will be war, and fear, and pain.

And yet, when Jaemin presses a kiss to the side of his neck, Renjun is sure they will be okay. One day, they will be truly free, one day they will be able to stop running, live together without worries.

“I can’t wait to show you my home.” Jaemin’s voice almost drowns in the murmur of the waves, but Renjun hears him clearer than the air. “Everyone will love you as much as Jeno and Donghyuck do, I’m sure. You’ll love it down by the river, it’s so pretty there. We don’t have roses, but there are so many other flowers.”

They both know it’s a little unrealistic, there won’t be much time to walk down to the river, or meet Jaemin’s family or to look at the flowers, but it’s nice to dream.

“Once all of this is over we can build a house by the river, if you want. We can plant some roses for you.”

His own rose garden where he can let them grow as wild as he likes, the sun burning down on his skin as he sits in the warm earth. A house to come back to, with Jaemin waiting behind the door. The reflection of the sun on the water, smell of plants in the air, doing his own housework, growing his own food. All with Jaemin by his side.

They could be so happy.

“Will we get married?”

Jaemin trails a hand down Renjun’s arm, spark of the touch of his fingers under his skin. “If you want to.” Another kiss to the junction of Renjun’s neck. “We don’t have to.”

“I don’t know if I want to.” Renjun threads their fingers together when Jaemin’s hand reaches his wrist. He doesn’t know anything just yet, much less the details of what he wants from their future.

“That’s okay.” Jaemin pulls him a little closer. “We have so much time.”

They have until the end of the world to decide what they want, when they die they will be reborn as lovers into the kingdom of the gods. Renjun knows, standing leaned over this ship’s rail with Jaemin, that on the final day on earth, they will stand over the flames hand in hand.

He has never been in love, he’s only heard stories. His parents married for political advantage, none of his brothers will marry someone they love, Renjun has never felt what it’s like to be loved, to be in love.

But with his head on Jaemin’s shoulder in the middle of the night, the cool breeze under their thin clothes, only each other’s bodies to keep them warm, he thinks that this is it.

There may be hardships to come, this love and peace might be in danger, and Renjun is scared. He doesn’t like to admit it, he’d rather smile and kiss Jaemin again, but he’s scared. Of what will await them in Seoul, of what their future will look like, of what his father would do. But he doesn’t, for even a second, doubt Jaemin.

For the first time in his life he is free to choose and still, without a doubt in his mind, he chooses Jaemin.

**Author's Note:**

> leave me some thoughts in the comments (or a kudos!)
> 
> or come yell at me here: [twt](https://twitter.com/rosyjaeh) or [cc](https:)


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